Symphony of the Forsaken
by Teamawesomefinearts
Summary: Hunters join the hunters guild to make a living hunting monsters, but it has often been said that man is the worlds deadliest game. How can hunters cope when placed out of their environment and forced into a conspiracy larger than they could imagine.
1. Chapter 1

Symphony of the Forsaken

Chapter 1: Encounter

_The only good thing about fighting is avoiding it._

Among massive trees, the heavy footfall of metal boots rang loudly. The source of the sound, a young man, walked closely along a trodden dirt path. The young man was suited in a heavy, composite suit of armor, a mixture of chainmail and plate. He held his helmet in his arms and a large pack on his back. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he trudged onward. In his tow was a single feline weighed down by a satchel-lie case which stirred the dirt behind it. The cat made soft purring noises in tune with its footsteps. The man's countenance was light; his enthusiasm evident in his mannerisms. The scent of water permeated the air, signaling that the campsite was nearby. He looked ahead, but showed little interest in the forest surrounding him; for this was the "safe zone" and as thus he would never assume that danger was here. His attention lay only on a clearing immediately next to a riverbank. This region was a meeting of two distinct environments, and was deemed "Forrest & Hills"

A woman entered the clearing. Unlike the man, she was unencumbered. She looked around quickly, but failed to notice the man through the trees through which he saw her. She then began to walk to the bank of the broad river and sat down. She let the foamy white water flow over her leggings, cleansing them of grime, while she pondered the scenery and waited for her assistance. The sky was a gentle blue with searing sunlight pouring down from the break in the coverage of the trees. This converted the mild temperature of the forest into a jungle-like atmosphere: humid, sweltering, and a haven for insects. The cold, flowing water, however, was a refreshing relief from the unpleasant atmosphere. The bank of the river was covered in white sand, a perfect representation of nature's beauty despite being somewhat spoiled by few rocks and floral debris; the majority of which would clear when the river would overflow. The surrounding trees were of several deciduous species, mostly redwood, and the grass was sparse. It was a textbook representation of a Forest & Hills scene. The kind painters would attempt to capture.

As the man approached, the woman stood; she was outfitted in a light, chainmail raiment with several steel plates attached and blue scales woven into the links. The woman turned as she heard the sound of footsteps, spotting the man entering the clearing. She made a wave-of-the-hand gesture which he seconded. Having already received copies of each other's guild cards, they recognized each other instantly.

"Angel is it?" the man questioned.

"Yes, and I gather that you're Blake," responded Angel.

The man put on his helmet and latched it in place; as he did, Angel stood and said, "We should set up and head out."

"Help me set this up," he commanded Angel, signaling the satchel his feline had been carrying.

Together they built a temporary camp in the clearing. Each gathered rations, first-aid, whetstones, and a map. Blake then gestured to his feline to help him untie the pack on his back. The cloth fell to the ground, revealing an enormous, iron sword.

"Are you ready yet," he asked Angel, "These bugs are going wild and I want to leave before any Vespoids show up."

Angel was sharpening her sword, a crimson blade with a concave structure and a rough texture. She also carried with her an azure shield. It overlapped her hand and had three red projections along the rim that were fashioned to resemble claws.

"Yes," she said as she too holstered her weapon, "what are we hunting?"

"We're hunting a Kut-Ku, juvenile," he explained, "Part of some preemptory population control business."

"That's not something I've ever heard of," Angel mentioned.

"Yeah well somebody already moped up the parents, but merchants swear up and down that they've seen a big-beak, razor-eared bird wyvern. And they think it'll be aggressive when it matures, 'cause it's already been attacked by humans," continued Blake.

"At any rate, this shouldn't be difficult," Angel interrupted.

"Of course," commented Blake; his bravado a ploy for his anxiety.

This would be his first hunt without the observation of his mentor; it was also his first large monster hunt. He worried about seeming inadequate, especially in front of a woman. He signaled that it was time to advance downstream and they moved quietly through the thick brush near the trees, looking for tracks of a bird wyvern. As they neared a bend in the river, a deafening wail echoed from beyond the trees. It quaked the forest and immobilized the hunters. The fauna of the area hurried from the direction of the scream, and from the trees emerged an unusually large Kut-Ku that sprinted to the bank of the river opposite of the hunters.

"So much for juvenile," said Angel.

"Oh, this is MUCH better than juvenile," exclaimed Blake, drawing his sword.

Just as he readied his sword at his hip, however, a golden mass erupted from the already trampled trees. A Rathian, queen of earth, colored an abnormal gold rushed at the Kut-Ku bowling it over into the river. The Kut-Ku struggled helplessly until it was able to dig its claws into the riverbed, preventing itself from being swept away by the current. The Kut-Ku was too disoriented to retaliate. As it yelped and flailed its head about the Rathian crouched, bearing its fangs. It then rocketed into the air, bludgeoning the Kut-Ku with its tail and ripping through its skull; a magnificent display, the Rathian's signature. The brutalized Kut-Ku spewed fire from its maw and its blood ran red through the river till it finally went limp. Were it not for the Kut-Ku's claws being dug deeply into the riverbed, his corpse would have been carried away by the river. The Rathian dragged the corpse onto the river bank and roared victoriously. Responding to the roar, three rath whelps emerged from the brush behind their mother.

She tore through the Kut-Ku's stomach to allow her brood to feed. The hunters watched the feeding cautiously.

Angel broke the silence, "That's odd, don't raths feed their young in their nest?"

"Well I guess she wants them to see her hunt," Blake commented, "They look old enough."

"Don't you think it could just be territorial instincts?"

"No, then it wouldn't have its young with it"

"Regardless, do you think we could still get a reward?"

"Not without proof that the Kut-Ku's dead. How about we wait till they're done?"

"I don't think we could pull that off. They'll probably notice us if we don't leave before long"

"I've got it," Blake exclaimed, "let's catch one of the whelps while the mother's not looking!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We should catch one of those whelps."

"What," Angel yelled, struggling to keep her voice low, "that's far too dangerous!"

"Yeah, well what in this world isn't?" Blake said, trying to sound insightful.

"That's not the point. We'd all get killed."

"We could cross that flotsam over there and sneak around through the brush till we're behind them," Blake argued as he pointed to a makeshift bridge of debris in the river that looked as though it could be washed away at any moment.

"That wouldn't work, the Rathian would see us," Angel reasoned, "Besides, we don't have a permit to hunt rath whelps, and they haven't done anything wrong."

"Preemptive measures right? We'll capture it, and the guild will pardon us," Blake argued.

"You'd risk an attack by a Rathian?"

"Listen," Blake said with conviction, "my mentor has always told me not to turn down an opportunity when it presents itself."

"This is no opportunity! The Rathian would just kill you."

"If one fears death, death will find them first," Blake said as he inched toward the flotsam.

"I take it that line is from your tool mentor, huh?" Angel said standoffishly.

"Don't talk bad about my mentor," Blake screamed!

The Rathian turned its head in head in his direction, seeing the glare from his helmet, clearly visible through the brush. Blake's outburst had set the Rathian into action. She leapt into the air, gliding over the river. The pressure created by her passing pinned the hunters to the ground and she skid to a stop behind them. Both hunters knew that retreat was impossible now.

"Our best bet is to trip it up when it charges, and then we can get away," Blake said, "So just hold your ground for as long as you can."

The hunters waited apprehensively, seconds seeming like minutes, as the Rathian turned slowly, aware that they were incapable of harming her. She moved like lightning, rushing at the hunters; driven by the instinctive bloodlust that drives beasts and her maternal duty to protect her young. Blake stood, his sword lay flat against him in an attempt to cover as much of his body as possible. As he watched the Rathian charge towards him he was overcome by a suspicion that the Rathian was charging not at Angel or him, but past them. The Rathian's talons knocked his breath out of him, but his sword protected him from her claws. She forced all her weight upon him, pushing him to the ground.

As Blake lay helpless, Angel struggled to hold the Rathian back. The Rathian's talon was caught on Angel's shield, and it would take little more than a push to throw the Rathian off balance, but Angel's strength refused her. She was overpowered by the weight of the Rathian, and was forced to kneel, holding her shield, all that was blocking the Rathian's talon from crashing down on her, feebly above her head. Seeing Angel's plight, Blake shifted his sword, tilting the Rathian's weight away from Angel. Angel felt her burden lessen and thrust her shield upward ferociously, causing the Rathian to lose her footing

Blake felt his ribs crunch as the Rathian fell upon him; his consciousness was fading. The Rathian was far too heavy for him to lift, and he was too worn to do little more than squirm. His only hope was to use his sword as a lever to lift the Rathian enough for him to escape, but the Rathian's struggling to stand made that near impossible. Blake would not give up, he struggled to wedge his sword into the ground, screaming from the pain it caused his broken ribcage. When he achieved a firm enough dig he pushed with what strength he had left, trying to elevate the Rathian just enough for him to roll out. He saw rays of light spill in from the outside, but they were soon blocked by a shadow: the shadow of Angel, who was trying to hold the Rathian up so Blake could escape. While the gap was still open, Blake rolled from under the Rathian and made every effort possible to get on his feet. He heard the thud of the Rathian hitting the ground and knew it wouldn't be much longer before she regained her balance. Shambling as he tried to stand, Blake fell back to the ground; he saw the Rathian charging at him. He blocked his vision with his arms, but no hit came. Through his arms he saw the Rathian flying over him, headed to the other side of the river.

There her whelps were being ambushed by a pack of Velociprey; two had already been killed, and the third was surrounded. The Rathian rained fire down upon the Velociprey pack and landed next to her remaining whelp. She sheltered the whelp under her wing and occupied an intimidating stance. The Velociprey's vicious leader slowly walked from the brush; he was accompanied by five other Velociprey. The Rathian spewed a huge fireball that was aimed at the Velocidrome, but he jumped aside, leaving the fireball to barrel through the forest – the fireball then sparked away when it collided with a tree, which over the years have become flame retardant.

Angel's voice called Blake's attention back to his immediate surroundings, "We have to get out of here!"

Blake's body would allow him no greater privilege than crawling, so Angel supported him as they fled to the forest, going deep enough to drown out the sound of the nearby fight.

Among the tall grass and massive trees Angel lay Blake down. Blake could feel bruises encompassing his body, and he was aware of his broken ribs. He wanted to just stay still in the soft, leafy grass, but he knew his wounds needed attention. He fumbled at the latches of his armor and shrugged it off, leaving him with only an arming doublet. Angel collected her first-aid kit and passed it to Blake. He opened his doublet, revealing his blotchy, bruised skin. Blake drew a jar of salve from the first-aid kit and collected some of it to apply to his bruises. Angel handed him a bottle containing a fragrant green liquid, "Drink this, it will dull the pain," she said. The drink smelled familiar; it was a potion, but it wasn't laced with honey like Blake was accustomed to. The drink tasted bitter, like coffee; as expected, it dulled his mouth and throat as it rolled down. Blake felt his body ease into numbness, an awkward feeling that made movement difficult, but one any hunter knew. Potions don't actually heal wounds, but are more than capable of saving lives. They can bring hunters back into action faster than treating wounds, allowing a hunter to finish his prey before it finishes him.

Enjoying his mobility, Blake stood.

"Close one, huh?" he questioned Angel.

"More than close," Angel emphatically stated.

"But that's what we signed up for," Blake responded.

"_After all, a hunter risks his or her life the good of others, right?"_ Blake thought.

He, however, had risked his life for nothing but pure foolishness, arrogance, and carelessness, and risked both his and Angel's lives in the process.

"What's on your mind?" Angel inquired.

"Well, I just risked both of our lives trying to kill a monster that hasn't had a bounty put on it yet," Blake answered, "I'm not exactly feeling like an ideal hunter right now."

Angel simply lowered her head.

"I'll go see what's going on," she whispered.

"Be safe," Blake responded.

Angel walked into the distance.

Blake was left standing alone, surrounded by the darkness of the thick forest foliage. The phrase "safe zone" rang through his head and he was reminded of his eminent danger. Roads may be kept safe by hunters, but areas this deep in the forest could be host to herds of Bullfango, or worse, and Blake had left his sword wedged in the ground. He began to worry, knowing neither what direction the river was, nor whether Angel did either; he wondered if she had gotten lost going back to the riverbank. He pulled out his map of the region. From the camp they had come to the river and traveled downstream. Blake didn't know how far down the river Angel and he had gone, but he knew that they had stopped at a point where the river curved, and that they had kept to one side of the river – the one closest to the camp. Tracing this trail on his map, he concluded that from the riverbank they must have moved north-east into the forest. He pulled out his compass, and located south-west. As he walked south-west he heard sounds from the foliage around him.

He turned and saw Angel standing with a golden carcass slung over her shoulder. She laid it next to him and drew a de-scaled pelt from her bag. The pelt was tied into a sac; Angel unwrapped it, revealing a Kut-Ku ear and gold Rathian scales that were stored within. She tossed the ear to him and tied the pelt around the rest again, storing it in her bag.

Angel explained, "The rath left; the Velociprey must have driven her off and finished with the whelps. I brought one of the corpses, but the other was so badly damaged that I just skinned it."

"I see, they ate anything that was edible off the poor thing," Blake said.

He looked at the pitiful corpse on the ground; its guts were completely removed, leaving its ribs and spine exposed. He wondered what the other corpse looked like.

"Well, at least we're not poachers," Angel jested.

"Yeah, that's true," Blake laughed.

Blake's disappointment in himself lessened, but he knew that his mentor would disapprove of his actions. It seemed the more of his mentor's lessons he learned, the more of them he misinterpreted. He wished his mentor would speak more plainly so that he could understand, but he knew that interpreting his mentor's teachings was part of his training.

"How shameful," Blake mused to himself, "to be trained by the 'Slayer of Mountains' and misunderstand his teachings."

Already he could imagine his mentor lecturing him. His stern features, hardened by experience, wrenched in anger. His name: Paul, the slayer of the black god Akantor, he now used equipment made of the beast as a trophy.

"You never learn, do you," he yelled in his thunderous and booming voice.

"A great hunter trusts nothing but his skill and spirit; he doesn't need fancy equipment to slay a monster," Blake thought, reciting one of his mentor's sayings.

"We hunters gain power from the monsters we slay, and it is this power that keeps us alive," Said Blake's mental image of his mentor.

To Blake these two sayings seemed to contradict. If hunters didn't have power in equipment, then how could they gain power from monsters?

As Blake pondered, he was caught off-guard by Angel calling for him. Her voice drew Blake from the infinite numbness of his body.

"Thinking?" she said.

Blake stood for a minute, "Just feeling like an idiot," he responded.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Angel said, trying to comfort him, "You just did what you thought was right."

"Right," Blake stated, "Is something that must be learned, not thought."

"Words from your mentor?"

"Yes."

Blake had an epiphany at that moment. Experience is the power that hunters gain from monsters; experience makes a true hunter.

"We should get going," Angel said.

"Agreed," said Blake.

The walk back to the camp was uneventful, and Angel suggested that the rest at camp before heading back to town. When they reached the camp Blake met with his feline companion; he gave him the Kut-Ku's ear and told him to report his success to the guild while they rested. They gathered under the small tent. Angel slept on a bed of leaves while Blake rested on the camps one bed. They lay there oblivious to the turmoil surrounding them.

_Chapter End_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Ambush

_What you most fear always lies in wait behind you._

A foul wind swept the cobbled streets of Santonia, a large city aiming to provide order to the chaos of commerce with its many winding paths. Clusters of people usually gathered to each merchant's stall in the open-aired plazas; however, the normally boisterous area was far too still. The air carried a stench, ever so faint, that brought one to irrational caution. Yet, as if challenging the foreboding atmosphere, the hunters' hall stood eminently, a testament to contemporary architecture. However, its majesty was plagued by robed mob on its doorstep. A member of the mob closest to the guild's gate preached,

"The demon, it sings to the corpses of its victims, for from the carnage rises new life, rich and sweet."

The crowd began a chant.

"Give in to what waits, for it is an unstoppable force that will destroy us, all of us; we must not fear. We are ready. Our fate is deserved."

The mob continued their chant while the hall's doors were slowly opened. From the hall exited an immense man suited in dark, smoldering armor. It had the quality of polished igneous rock, and was covered in prominent spikes which made it more imposing. As the man began to descend the hall's lavish stairs, he came to a sudden halt. The mob blocked the man's path; one figure stepped from the crowd.

"You there, hunter!" he said to the armored man.

"What is it?" the armored man responded.

"Do you know the blight you and your kind bring upon us? Do you know that our homes will burn; our wives and children will suffer and at your behest!" he screamed.

"And why, might I ask, is that?" asked the man, feigning interest.

"You bring about the wrath of fate, you hope to stop him by hunting his emissaries, but your efforts are futile!"

"I apologize, but I find it difficult to listen to those that can't make coherent statements."

"Mock me if you will, but I have seen. A demon will come; it is fate personified and it will bring about our doom!"

"Yes, I'm sure I'll rue the day," the man said sarcastically, "that I dared to challenge fate."

"Indeed you will," the robed man said as he turned and led his followers away, "indeed you will."

As the robed group marched away the flow of the city returned; people marched about their chores, oblivious to their recently professed demise. The armored man walked into the plaza. There the air was a crisp medley of spring scents and spices; however, the man's helmet squandered the sensation. Few people would find it pleasant to wear armor about town, but society had grown to expect that from hunters. It was a testament to their power; they were ever ready to bring up arms to defend the people. After all, a sense of security was good for business, and hunting was nothing if not a business. Hunters were once like peacekeepers, but over time many had abused their positions. Poaching, monster trafficking, and other crimes ran rampant until hunters were reduced to mere figureheads, though many still look to hunters in times of need. As a high-ranking hunter, Paul had quite the reputation, which often led him to confrontations, as with that mob.

"Morn' good hunter," said a passerby.

"Morning," Paul responded.

"Waitin' for someone?"

"Yes, actually."

Paul was indeed waiting for someone, two people in fact.

Paul was anxious to hear news from his pupil; he had sent Blake on a simple enough hunt and with a partner as well. He had no reason to doubt Blake's success, but he was anxious nevertheless. While he waited, Paul sat at a bench and listened for gossip. most of what Paul overheard was talk of a cult, likely the one he had just encountered, but there were loose rumors of monsters being sighted outside of their natural habitats, and, of course, random gossip about important figures. Paul even heard a snippet about himself and laughed when the gossips realized he was listening.

Paul was surprised when he heard the familiar voice of his pupil,

"Mentor!"

He turned to see Blake and a woman he didn't know.

"I trust you were successful?" Paul said, scrutinizing Blake.

"More than you'd think," Blake said, drawing a golden pelt from his pouch.

"You were ordered to slay a Yian Kut-Ku," Paul said, slightly annoyed, "I need to see evidence of a dead Yian Kut-Ku,"

"Yeah, I gave the ear to the cat; he should already have reported our success."

"Then what creature did that come from?" Paul questioned, "You were only authorized to kill a Yian Kut-Ku."

"_We_ didn't kill anything," Blake stated bluntly.

"So you want me to believe you just happened upon a Kut-Ku's ear and that pelt?" Paul asked sarcastically.

"Well, sort of, but it's hard to explain," Blake said feebly.

"By all means, please do explain."

"The Kut-Ku was there, but there was more. We saw the Kut-Ku get attacked by a gold Rathian."

"And I'm to assume that you just sat by as the Rathian killed it?" Paul said, taunting Blake.

"Not exactly," Blake stated, "the Rathian did kill the Kut-Ku, but it brought its whelps with it to feed."

"How is that relevant?"

"Wait, let me finish," Blake pleaded, "I was being stupid; I wanted to try to catch one of the whelps."

"From under the nose of its mother," Paul stammered, "Are you right of mind, boy?"

"I know. It didn't end well, and it wasn't a smart idea," Blake said, defeated, "The Rathian attacked us. We might have been killed if it weren't for the Velociprey that attacked the Rathian's whelps."

"So you survived by a stroke of luck, and yet you come back to me bearing gold Rathian pelts. Excuse me if I find that suspicious."

"While the Rathian was struggling with the Velociprey we escaped into the forest."

"And how did you get the Rathian pelt?"

"When we came back the Rathian was gone, and all that was left was two corpses."

"Two corpses!" Paul said as he noticed the gold Rathian corpse slung over the woman's shoulder, dripping with blood, "Do you know what you've gotten yourself into?"

"It's not as if we killed them," Blake begged "What trouble could it cause?"

"More than you know, boy; I ask, can you prove that you didn't kill these beasts?"

"Well just look at it," Blake said, "It's a clean kill, straight to the neck. You can't do that with a sword like mine."

"And the pelt, can you prove that you didn't kill that Rathian?"

"How could I, all we have is the pelt!" Blake argued.

"Think, Blake, poaching is a serious offense; you'll get more than just your hunting license revoked for this. I've seen people publicly executed for poaching."

"No, I swear I didn't kill it!" Blake raged.

"Relax boy."

"It's hard to relax when I've been dug a shallow grave!"

"You," Paul said, pointing at Angel, "Show me that corpse."

Angel threw the corpse to the ground. It was mostly intact apart from a mutilated stomach. To the untrained eye it may have looked like the beast had died from its innards being eaten, but upon closer inspection, one could notice the ever so slight wound to its broken neck, which lay limply on the ground.

Everyone in the square had gathered around the ravaged Rathian corpse. The guild hall's doors opened, and a woman wearing an elaborate purple and white dress walked down the steps towards the crowd. Her long ears were adorned with various jeweled earrings and she was accompanied by various attendants.

"I've heard enough!" the woman shouted, clearing out the crowd.

"These two hunters are hereby charged with two accounts of poaching," she said as she pointed an accusing finger at the hunters.

"They will be jailed until a verdict is reached," she stated, motioning to her attendants, "Their property will be confiscated as evidence against their case."

"Don't we get a chance to defend ourselves?" Blake questioned.

"Hold it boy," Paul said, putting his hand on Blake's shoulder, "You'll only get yourself in deeper."

"Dignified Guild Master, I ask that you hear me out." Paul said as he kneeled.

"What is your request, Slayer of Mountains?" The Guild Master responded.

"I ask that you allow me to present evidence that proves these hunters' innocence"

"What is this evidence you claim to possess?"

"I present this Rathian corpse to you," Paul said, motioning to the whelp.

"Pay close attention to the wounds on the creature's neck," Paul said as he lifted the corpse for all to see, "There are several small scratches along the spine, which is broken at several locations. This kind of injury could not be performed by a sword."

"If not these hunters, then what inflicted the injuries on that corpse, and what of the other Rathian, what proof do you have that they didn't kill that creature?"

"I cannot prove that these hunters didn't kill the beast, but you cannot prove that they did. I believe that it was a pack of Velociprey that killed these Rathians."

"Instead of jailing these hunters," Paul continued, "I ask that you release these two under the conditions that they stay in my custody for the remainder of their visit here."

The guild master pondered for a moment.

"I will comply with your request," the Guild Master said as she and her coterie walked back to the guild hall, "but only because of your position."

"I object!" said Angel, who had previously held her tongue, "I came here as an individual. I have my own business, and I refuse to be kept in the company of someone who I have no affiliation with."

"Sorry little lady," Paul said, "those are the rules, and it's either follow them or go to jail."

"He's right," Blake said, attempting to diffuse the situation, "with all the fuss we've caused, it's reasonable to ask that we be held in custody."

"I guess I see your point," Angel said.

"Well, Paul was it, I have a favor to ask of you," Angel asked, "Since I am in your company, would you allow me to my chores."

"I don't see why not," Paul responded, "I've got plenty of time."

"What is it you have to do?" he questioned.

"To start, I've got to get a weapon forged, then I've got to get some armor forged, lastly, I've got to get some jewels forged," Angel listed

"In short, you've got to go to the blacksmith," Paul said, cutting her rambling short.

"Well I don't have any objections, I've got to stop by the smithy too," Blake interjected.

"It's settled then," Paul said, patting Angel on the back, "This little lady is with us now."

Paul gathered Blake and Angel under his arms, and the group began an uncomfortable walk to the blacksmith. Blake struggled with the rathian whelp slung over his shoulder.

"Paul, you make it extremely difficult to carry this thing," Blake said as he stumbled along.

"I think your armor is poking me," Angel complained, struggling under the weight of Paul's armor.

"Show some team spirit," Paul joked, "Here we are, all going to the same place, and we can't even get there without complaining about each other."

"We're not complaining about each other," said Blake, "we're complaining about you."

"Come on people, we're hunters. **We'd die if we didn't work together**," Paul stated.

"Yes," Angel responded, "that's true, but that doesn't mean we have huddle around each other while we walk."

"I agree," Paul said as he released the others from his grasp, "but we must stay in a group, it's safer that way."

"Safer?" Angel asked.

"I've got a sneaking suspicion that somebody tried to set me up," Paul stated, "I'm sorry that you've gotten caught up in this."

"And what brings you to that conclusion?" Angel asked.

"Listen, it's no coincidence that you encountered that Rathian, and you're lucky to have seen a Kut-Ku at all.

"What are you trying to say?" Angel questioned.

"I'm saying that there's something suspicious about this whole predicament," Paul whispered, "I recommend that you watch your back from now on."

An awkward silence accompanied the hunters on their way to the blacksmith. The roads were unoccupied, as if the people of the city were overwhelmed by some great fear. The lack of activity heightened Paul's suspicions, and when the blacksmith was finally in sight he whispered to his companions,

"This is too quiet I don't like it."

On cue with Paul's statement, a shadowy figure appeared from a nearby alleyway and walked into the smithy. By unspoken words, the hunters shared growing caution.

Inside the smithy the loud noise of metal striking metal rang in the group's ears. Sparks lighted the room, but between flashes the lighting was dim and there were many places to hide. From the lobby one could see the silhouette of a man striking anvil with hammer, but a wall divider hid all else from sight. Paul didn't see the man who had walked in before them, and he didn't like not knowing where his enemy could strike from.

"You," Paul whispered to Angel, "go place an order from the blacksmith, make sure no one suspicious is in there."

Angel nodded and walked to the blacksmith's sectioned off workspace. As she walked through the doorway she blocked out the only source of light.

"Ready your weapon, boy," Paul whispered in the darkness.

When the light returned to the room it revealed a cloaked man. In the dim light Paul could make out bright red claws protruding from the glove on the man's hand.

Angel stepped into the blacksmith's workspace. She expected to see a hobbled wyverian smith hard at work, but she was treated to no such sights. Instead, an armored figure hammered viciously at a bare anvil, creating hundreds of sparks. The man wore a strange suit of armor; it was designed after Velociprey, but didn't appear to be made with any parts from one. His helmet resembled a Velocidrome's head, but the design was efficient in terms of protection, and from his hands protruded sharp claws. The man dropped the hammer and spoke,

"You must be the third hunter?"

"If I'm your target," Angel questioned, "then I assume you already know that. So why ask?"

"I just like to acquaint myself with my prey," the man said smugly.

Angel drew her sword and rushed at the man. She swung at him, but he jumped back onto the anvil, out of her reach. He then jumped off the anvil and slammed his leg down on Angel, nearly knocking her over. Angel readied her shield to protect herself from another attack, but the assassin cut through her shield with his vicious claws as if it were butter.

The cloaked man leapt at Paul, who ducked under the blow. Paul delivered a hard kick to the man's ribs; Blake was startled to discover that he was unarmed. Blake wanted to draw his sword, but the size of the room left him unable to. The assassin must have known his enemy's weapon and chosen a location accordingly. Blake resided to punching the man in the back of his head; this caught him unawares and he flinched. Paul utilized the opportunity to grab one of the nearby display swords; it was not meant for combat, but Paul had no other options. He swung at the man, but the assassin gracefully avoided the swing to deliver a counter-attack to Paul's face. The impact chipped Paul's helmet and left him disoriented. The assassin then kicked Paul hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground, and Blake could only sit back and watch.

"_This man,_" Blake thought, "_is trained at slaying humans, not monsters._"

Instead of encroaching on Paul, the assassin turned to Blake. He caught the assassin's fierce gaze and watched for signs of the assassin's next move. The assassin swiped, Blake dodged. He quickly ran to Paul and grabbed a display sword for himself. The assassin patrolled around Blake, waiting for the opportune time to strike, and Blake felt truly helpless for the first time in his life. He feinted to the left, but the assassin saw through his ruse. Blake prepared for death as he watched the red claws darting towards him. Then he fell.

The impact of the blow to her shield knocked Angel to the ground.

"Aha, ha, fool," the assassin boasted.

Angel regained her composure and rolled under the smith's water trough. She heard the assassin's claws tear through the marble trough; they narrowly missed her. Angel drew a flash bomb from her pouch and loosed it at the assassin.

"Prepare to die!" he yelled, as the bright flash left him blind.

Angel rolled from the trough as the blinded assassin stabbed it again, causing it to collapse.

Blake felt himself falling; the sensations of death were odd to him. He felt as though he were fully conscious. It wasn't until Blake opened his eyes that he realized what had happened. Paul had pulled Blake to the ground to stop him from being killed, and Paul was now standing face-to-face with the assassin. Blake watched from the floor as Paul grabbed another sword from the display. The assassin reared back, preparing to strike, but before he was able, Paul lobbed his sword at him. In an instant, Blake saw a flash reflected off the sword, and then he heard a sickening noise as the sword flew through the gap in the assassin's visor. Blake was stunned. Paul dusted himself off and said,

"Alright, that's one down."

"What?" was all Blake could manage to say as he stood.

"There's one more, didn't you notice that flash earlier?"

"How did you . . . so fast, between the eyes?"

"Years of practice," Paul said as he walked into the next room.

Blake followed Paul through the door to find Angel struggling with a blinded assassin.

"Where are you?" the assassin questioned as he flailed about.

The assassin's movements were sluggish and aimless; he left many openings. Angel took advantage of the assassin's confusion and beheaded him with a single spinning slash. The room fell into silence. As Angel looked upon the gruesome scene, her hands began to shake.

"No!" she shouted.

"Hunters are supposed to protect people, not kill them!" she said as she fell to her knees, "What happened to the brotherhood?"

Paul placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder,

"You'll have to deal with this later, for now we've got to leave."

_Chapter End_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Hunting

_Life grants two options: hunt, or be hunted_

"Now's no time to question yourself," Blake stated, "We can't be seen standing over corpses, self defense or not."

"They won't be missed," Paul added.

"How would you know?" Angel shouted, leaving only silence.

"You're right . . . we should go, but where?" Angel asked.

"We've got to get as far away from here as possible, as fast as possible. Preferably out of this guild hall's jurisdiction," Paul said.

"How do you suppose we do that?" Blake questioned.

"I've got a place in mind, but we'll have to get there by boat. Tell your relatives goodbye, think up a dramatic life story, and meet me at the port," Paul said, starting to walk out the door.

"I'll just go with you, I don't have any relatives I care to say goodbye to," Angel said.

"I don't want to leave my sister alone. Can she come?" Blake asked.

"Can she cook?" Paul questioned.

"Well enough," Blake said bluntly

"Go ahead and bring her with you then," Paul said as he exited the blacksmith with Angel, "Oh, and be sure to look like a sailor when you show up at the port."

"Wait . . . what?" Blake asked, his question left unanswered.

Blake was left alone; he was the only one who wasn't a murderer now, not that he could prove it. He felt sorry for the others who had been forced to take a human life. He didn't want to think to hard about it so he left to his tasks.

Blake bought a two-way ticket for two to his home village where he and his sister lived. The trip took him over familiar roads that he had traveled on foot, often hunting monsters. It was ironic; he had worked to keep these roads safe for caravans, and was now traveling via caravan himself. Of course, reserving a merchant caravan for transportation cost Blake a decent sum. He had paid 90z for this trip alone. Blake reminisced as he watched the forest roll by; he had lived his whole life alongside his sister. Their parents died to an endemic that had once ravaged his village, so he and his sister had been raised by the whole village instead. She was his younger sister, but they supported each other. Blake couldn't imagine where he'd be today without her support. He dreaded that he'd have to pull her away from the villagers; she was dear to all of them. Blake's thoughts were interrupted by the pain in his ribs, and the rattling of the caravan didn't help.

When Blake arrived at the village, he left the caravan; it would be waiting for him when he returned. He walked his humble abode. It was a small, uninspired hut, a testament to how dull architecture could be, but it had housed his family for as long as he could remember. As he neared, the door creaked open; his sister had a habit of greeting visitors before they could knock, and Blake had no idea how she managed it. His sister's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Brother!" she yelped rushing to Blake's side, "You're finally back!"

"Oh calm down, Amie," Blake said, "I haven't been gone for that long."

"Come in, sit down," Amie said, gesturing to the hut, "I'd love to know how your hunt went."

"Okay, Okay, but it's difficult to recall the details on an empty stomach, think you could fix something up?" Blake asked as he sat.

"I'll put some soup on the fire," Amie said enthusiastically, running to the fire pit in the middle of the room.

The interior of the hut was just as dull as the outside, with a dirt floor and single, sectioned-off chamber – Blake let his sister have her own room. Amie set the fire and placed a small pot over the flame.

"I'll get some ingredients from the village stores, can you go get some water," she asked Blake.

"Can do," Blake said as he stood.

He exited the hut with his sister and headed to the village well. He greeted familiars along the way. Since the village was so small, people shared food and water, and most people knew better than to be selfish – Blake and his sister were the closest things to freeloaders the village had. At the well, Blake spotted one of his old friends, Luther. He was a former hunter, one of Blake's inspirations.

"Ah, Blake, what brings you here" he asked as he drew water from the well.

"Troublesome business," Blake responded grimly.

"That's a shame," Luther said, "to be brought home by troublesome business."

"It's not so bad that I can't enjoy it, may I use the well?" Blake asked.

"Sure, I'll be just a minute," Luther said as he continued to draw water.

Blake waited patiently until Luther finished with the well. Blake looked into the darkness below as he drew the water. He was worried about what might become of him, and more importantly his sister. Blake was apparently a target, and were he to take her with him, assassins might attack her too, but leaving her at home alone didn't seem any safer. Blake gazed at his reflection in the murky water. It wasn't suitable for use without boiling. After drawing some water, he headed back to the hut. His sister hadn't returned yet. As he waited for her, he wondered if it might be best for him to stay with his sister to protect her, but he trusted Paul's judgment. Maybe, by some chance, Paul really did know somewhere that would be safe.

Paul told Angel that she'd need some sharq-skin garments to make a convincing sailor, but she soon discovered that sharq-skin wasn't cheap. She had been wandering around the bazaar for hours looking for a good bargain. She was arguing with a clothing merchant over what price she would have to pay.

"Five thousand zenny! I don't have that kind of money," Angel complained.

"Hey lady, five thousand is the best price you'll find in this city. This stuff exports high and sells even higher."

Sharq-skin outfits were custom fitted by order, so Angel didn't have many options. Even hawking her armor wouldn't get her enough zenny.

By the time Amie returned, the water was already boiling. She brought with her a basket of spices and Aptonth meat.

As she dumped the ingredients into the pot., she asked, "So, now that the food's cooking, how did the hunt go?"

"Well, it started when I took a quest to hunt a Kut-Ku," Blake began.

"Oh, I hear they look like birds!" Amie interjected.

"A little," Blake continued, "Anyways, I found the Kut-Ku, but it turns out that it was being chased by a Golden Rathian!"

Amie's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Yeah, and she had her whelps with her too," Blake added.

"Aww, I bet they were adorable!" she exclaimed

"In a twisted kind of way, yeah." Blake admitted.

"So what happened next?" Amie asked, her enthusiasm dauntless.

"The Rathian killed the Kut-Ku," Blake said, narrating in a somber tone, "and then it attacked us."

"Us?" Amie questioned, seeming disappointed.

"Well, this was my first hunt with another hunter," Blake explained

"I bet he was a monster of a man huh?" Amie questioned.

"It was a woman," Blake stated.

"Really, was she six feet tall?" Amie asked, continuing to grill Blake at every opportunity.

"No," Blake said bluntly.

"Then was she cute?" Amie giggled.

"Well . . . " Blake said as he recalled the details of Angel's appearance.

By his memory, she had a soft face, but her strength was visible in her eyes. Blake accorded her to be of average build and looks, but there was a je ne sais quoi to her that made her more . . . enthralling.

"Sorta," Blake answered.

"I bet you swept in and saved her, huh?" Amie asked.

Blake laughed aloud at the irony.

"Hah, I can tell that you did!" Amie shouted, "The two of you must have defeated the Rathian together!"

"Not exactly . . . " Blake started.

"She fled before you could defeat her?" Amie said, interrupting Blake.

"We ran away," Blake finished.

"Are Rathians really that strong!" Amie asked, astonished.

"They're absolutely ferocious!" Blake exclaimed

"Wow," Amie said, left speechless.

Blake took the opportunity to change the subject, "Amie, would you like to go somewhere?"

"Oh, where would we be going?" she inquired.

"We'd be going far away, like on an adventure," Blake stated.

"Ooo, do I get to go to Santonia?" she said eagerly.

"No, where we're going we won't be coming back," Blake stated sternly.

"Why?" Amie questioned.

Her ignorance angered Blake, "We can't stay here, it's dangerous," he said angrily.

"No its not, it never will be," Amie said, haughtily.

"And by the way, your soup's done," she said as she handed him a bowl.

Blake didn't eat, he thought he was about to snap.

"Amie, you need to pay attention," Blake commanded.

"You're not my brother. You're a liar, get out of my house," Amie pouted.

"Listen to me," Blake yelled.

He was angry at his sister, and more at himself for making her this way. He was the one who fed her all the lies that gave her a false sense of security, and he was the one who fostered her dependence on him. Because Blake was never a good role model for his sister, but he hoped she could be strong in a time of crisis.

"I need you to come with me, that's all," Blake pleaded.

"No!" Amie yelled as tears welled in her eyes, "Why are you yelling at me, I didn't do anything. Get away from me!"

"Please, just listen to me," Blake whispered, trying to console her.

"Okay," Amie mewled.

"We can eat first," Blake said somberly as he sipped his soup.

"This is good," he mentioned, trying to diffuse the situation.

"It's my favorite recipe," she whimpered.

"Well make sure you remember it," Blake said enthusiastically, "Cause I want to eat this the whole trip."

"Really?" Amie asked, visibly cheering up.

"Of course, and I doubt I'm the only one!" Blake said as he finished his soup, "Let's go."

"Sure, let me pack my things," Amie said, it seemed as though she had forgotten their previous altercation.

Blake watched as Amie left to the second room of the hut. His thoughts began to wander. He had committed himself to a career of slaying mankind's troublesome beasts, but even seeing a human be killed had a sense of wrongness to it. How could he never feel remorse for the creatures he slew while he fretted over some petty humans who had plotted to kill him? Perhaps humans were not better than monsters; what if hunters should kill humans as well? What had it come to that Blake was thinking of such things? He turned as he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he shouted.

In the doorway was Luther, scarred and athletic, but awkwardly dressed in fancy clothing.

"Oh, it's you," He said, disappointed, "Is your sister home?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Blake responded, suspicious.

"Just tell her I was here, okay," he said as he walked out the door.

"That's odd," Blake spoke aloud.

"I'm ready," Amie said as she walked in the room.

"Oh, Luther asked about you, any idea why," Blake asked.

"Yeah, he hired me to work with his trading business a while ago," Amie responded.

"I'm sorry, I've been away so long I didn't know," Blake said regretfully, "What do you guys trade?"

"We deal in monsters," she answered cheerfully.

"So you trade monster parts?" Blake asked.

"Yeah," Amie answered anxiously, "but I only make the sales. The others do the hard part!"

"Luther's paying you, right?" Blake asked patronizingly.

"Of course," Amie answered dismissively, "And since he dropped by, he's probably got a job for me."

"Well, you know we have to go," Blake complained, trying to urge her on.

"But I can't just leave with unfinished business," she whined.

"Tell, you what, I'm going," Blake said as he stood, "but I'll be back. While I'm gone you can handle your unfinished business,"

"Okay! Be back soon!" Amie shouted, waving as he left.

Blake could tell that Amie thought things were back to normal, that till the moment she was on the boat, she wouldn't realize that things had really changed.

_Maybe_, Blake mused to himself, _it's safe to leave Amie here. After all, she has a job._

He knew it would devastate Amie, but Blake decided he wasn't coming back.

After sending Angel on her way, Paul stood about; even after hours of pondering, he still couldn't think of a reason why those assassins, had ambushed him. Santonia had several factions of hired killers, but these assassins were different. They weren't hired to kill him, Paul could tell. They had their own reasons for assaulting him, and Paul knew from their dress that they were probably members of that cult of doomsayers he had encountered earlier. Those kinds of assassins rarely target reputable hunters. Their main prey are poachers. and as much as Paul hated to admit it, poachers have been much less common since they showed up. Most poachers are scared to operate, some even use children to secure their deals, but most assassins have no problem with murdering children. Perhaps if Paul better understood what their goals were, then he could figure out why they wanted him dead. His only conclusion was that the assassins had ambushed him because of Blake's confrontation with the guild master, which he had no doubt that they saw. But that they could set up an ambush so fast disturbed Paul. They were much more formidable that he had originally thought.

The emptiness of his pockets disturbed Blake. He could barely afford the trip to his village. He knew he'd have to put up a convincing act as a sailor in order to meet Paul's demands, but he wouldn't be able to afford the expensive sailor garments or fishing equipment that he'd need on his strict budget. Though Blake had some fishing experience, he didn't think he'd be able to make difficult catches, and he wasn't too keen of the "life on the seas" idea either; danger and a sense of moral obligation were the much needed nourishment for his soul. He didn't have the restlessness that drove others to wander the seas, but he wondered what Paul really had in store for him. Blake continued to think on the ride back to Santonia.

Angel roamed the bazaar; she realized that the only way that she could possibly afford the equipment she needed would be to supply the crafting materials herself. Though sharqs weren't rare, they were dangerous, and finding high-quality sharq skin could be difficult. Even ignoring the risks, the cost of transportation to a sharq hunting-ground would be significant, and oxygen supplies weren't exactly cheap either. The miscellaneous costs would leave Angel with about 14z – not nearly enough to pay the crafting fee. She skulked to a nearby bench and sat when she saw Blake pass by.

"Hey, Blake!" Angel exclaimed as she stood.

"Huh?" Blake responded, as if drawn from a trance, "Oh, hey Angel."

"You're looking for a bargain on sharq-skin clothing too, right?" she asked, "Had any luck?"

"Sharq-skin, I guess I should be," Blake responded dryly.

"Well then let me tell you that you won't find one," Angel stated emphatically, "We should pool our money together."

Blake pulled out his pouch, and his heart sank.

"I'm kind of short at the moment," he said.

"That's okay," Angel said, attempting to comfort him, "How much ya got?"

"Fifteen zenny," he responded feebly.

No good. They'd need at least two-hundred zenny for the crafting fees alone. That ruled out going to any sharq breeding-grounds. Angel realized her only option would be to risk hunting sharks in the nearby sea, which was an unstable environment. On top of that, it would be difficult to find two quality skins, or even one from wild sharqs, and no craftsman worth his salt would work with low quality materials.

_Oh well_, Angel thought, _It's not as if there were many options._

"Tell you what, Blake, why don't we go hunt some sharqs ourselves so that we won't have to buy any sharq skin?" she offered.

"If I must," Blake responded.

"You can be sure, this is our only option," stated Angel.

"Fine then, where to?" asked Blake.

"Let's head to the shore," Angel instructed.

Angel and Blake still needed to invest some zenny into supplies for the hunt, but they spent much less than they would hunting elsewhere. After purchasing oxygen supplies and fishing harpoons they exited the city on a road that lead to the shore. Unlike the other busy roads, this one was quiet, serene even. It probably lead to some small coastal village, but they cut off the road before reaching there.

The shore was unkempt. Branches, rocks, and other floral debris littered its surface; however, the sea glistened. Approaching the shoreline, Angel saw her reflection in the water, turned orange by the midday sun, but she couldn't see any sharqs. Angel knew that the sharqs were most likely further from the shore. She dived, followed by Blake. The sea was as devoid of life as the coast, which was unusual. Angel shrugged off her apprehension and swam ahead. Finally, a while from shore, she saw the first signs of sea-life. She prepared her oxygen supply and dived deep.

Angel found herself surrounded by a sparse coral reef that was brimming with life. She spotted many sharqs, glad that they were never in groups, for it made them easier to hunt. Angel and Blake split up to hasten the process; they would keep the sharqs so that they could sell what parts they didn't need. Angel wasn't a particularly strong swimmer, and the sharq's attacks were too swift for her to dodge, so she relied on her shield and armor for protection. Her strategy was to let them snap at her shield until they wore themselves out, then she would harpoon them. Angel continued to hunt the sharqs, drawn into a battle trance.

Blake hated being dragged around on Angel's errands, but he needed the sharq-skin clothes just as she did, and the clear seawater helped calm his nerves. Blake hunted down sharq after sharq. They only attacked one at a time, and he knew his was around a harpoon, so he hit them well and carved them afterward. After he had killed about four, Blake noticed a blue glow slithering into sight from the murky coastal water, and he realized why the coast had been so quiet. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it wasn't good. Though Blake wasn't that knowledgeable about monster species, rumors of sea-dwelling creatures that terrorized coastal villages and fishing vessels were always common. He could remember one about an ancient aquatic elder-dragon that caused earthquakes near a coastal village, but he was sure what he saw now was no such creature. Blake was more concerned that a hunter and the four dead sharqs he dragged behind him might seem like an appealing meal. He was sure Angel wouldn't hear him, so he tried to motion to her, but to no avail. He could see more of the creature now, blue scales, white underbelly, red horns, and glowing blue humps across its back. Blake remembered hearing tales of such a creature, but he could only recall its title: _Lord of the Seas_. The leviathan entered the clear reef water and Blake knew it had seen him.

Blake quickly looked for the nearest landmass. Seeing a shore in the distance, he swam feverishly toward Angel, not looking back. Blake was tossed about by a strong current, and the Lord of the Seas was in front of him now. Blake narrowly dodged the creature's massive jaws trying to close around him. Angel had finally seen the him, and they both swam towards the shore, the leviathan following close behind them. It seemed more curious than aggressive, almost as if it was playing with them, but Blake knew that it was still extremely dangerous. Thinking the creature was probably looking for an easy meal, Blake discarded one of the sharqs he was dragging along. The Lord of the Seas ate the sharq whole, but it continued to follow slowly behind them, hoping for more food. Blake discarded more sharqs, as he could swim faster without them, but he was worried that the creature might not hold off its hostility for much longer. Blake saw that Angel reached the shore ahead of him. He swam as fast as he could, but it seemed that the beast was always close in his wake.

Angel had recognized the Lagiacrus the moment she laid eyes on it. She was happy that she had escaped, but she waited anxiously for Blake to come ashore. She sighed when he climbed out of the water, but her relief was short lived as the Lagiacrus followed shortly after. Its moist scales reflected the dim sunlight, but beautiful as it was, it was equally dangerous. Angel could tell that this Lagiacrus had never encountered any hunters before, for it was too docile in the face of humans. Angel had no intention of leaving the sharqs she had hunted behind, so she laid them on the ground, readied her weapon, and rushed into battle.

Blake had a feeling that this creature didn't want to fight for its food, so he aimed to strike first. He drew his greatsword and swung at the leviathan's chest. The creature shrieked as Blake's sword passed through its flesh. Its eyes lit up with malicious hate. Blake let out the fiercest battle-cry he could manage and occupied an intimidating stance. Angel mimicked Blake, and they circled around the beast, closing in on it slowly. Blake tried to keep his cool while the creature roared and snapped at him; he knew it was testing their resolve. It wasn't going to retreat unless it thought its meal could put up a decent fight, but Blake could tell it was giving up. He watched as the creature's humps lit up. It enshrouded itself in crackling electricity and retreated into the sea. Blake didn't let his guard down yet. He looked to Angel, who was gathering up the sharqs she had hunted. Blake saw the Leviathan's head rise form the water, electricity crackling from its maw. He ran to Angel as fast as he could. A huge ball of lightning flew through the air towards her. Blake rushed in front of her and readied his sword to guard against the blast. He felt it collide with his sword. Lightning dispersed to both sides of him, and the impact nearly bowled him over. Blake turned to see Angel with her shield already raised; he laughed to himself. Blake saw the Leviathan swim into the distance.

"Might you be trying too hard?" Angel said jeeringly.

"Possibly, I like to keep appearances up, you know," Blake suavely answered.

"Oh, so you make sure everyone knows that you're always ready to protect a damsel in distress?" Angel continued.

"No, no, damsels simply aren't my type," Blake stated.

"My, that's good to hear. I can't stand damsels either," Angel agreed.

"Either way, I guess we're even then?" Blake questioned.

"We're even enough. We don't need to keep tabs on how many times we save each other, do we?" Angel stated.

"No, you're right," Blake admitted, "but more importantly, we've got to figure out where we are."

"I know this region, its a gulf," Angel said, "We're probably a little east from where we started."

"Think you can find the road?" Blake asked.

"Of course," Angel responded.

Blake and Angel divided the five remaining sharqs. Blake would carry three, and Angel would carry the other two. After finding the road, they followed it to Santonia.

As they walked, Angel asked, "Do you think five sharqs will be worth two-hundred zenny?" Angel asked.

"I'm not sure, I've never sold a monster whole before," Blake responded.

"Well how do the skins you carved look?"

"I'm no expert, but two of them look promising,"

Angel and Blake continued to chat on the road to Santonia. They would have the sharq skin examined when they reached Santonia to see if any were of quality. Blake worried about what the future would bring, but he felt that he had shown himself to be an adequate hunter today.

_Chapter End_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Deception

_True wretchedness lies in the hearts of man, all else is but trifles_

"Four out of five, that's amazing!" Angel shouted, her voice rumbling through the marketplace.

"I guess it's not as hard to find good sharqskin as they say," Blake stated.

"Or maybe we're just lucky," Angel said as she shrugged.

Either way, Angel was overjoyed to have some excess materials. She planed to sell them for some much needed zenny.

"Well, I guess our money troubles are over momentarily, eh friend," she said to Blake, "Just as soon as we find someone willing to buy this stuff, that is."

"Tell you what," Blake interjected, "my sister deals in monster goods. I'm sure she'll give us a good deal."

"Well that's a surprise, she's quite the industrious youth isn't she?" Angel said, "We'll definitely have to see her after we meet up with Paul."

"Alright, but you'll have to pay the travel fare," Blake said.

"Fine by me," Angel responded, "just as long as the profit's worth it."

"It should be," Blake said reassuringly.

After Angel gave the tailor the materials and zenny they walked to the docks in silence. The night air tormented Blake, who was still flogged with water. He worried about his sister, as she was probably waiting on him by now. Though Blake had decided not to bring her with him, he felt that his resolve wasn't strong enough to leave her there shuddered off his doubt and he continued with Angel to the docks.

Unlike Santonia's marketplace, the ports were calm at night. The seascape was still, and gentle darkness blanketed the smooth stone walkways. It wasn't hard to spot Paul in his dimly glowing armor.

As Angel and Blake approached, he shouted, "My! Still not ready, either of you?"

"Hold your horses," Blake retorted, "The clothes will be done by tomorrow."

"Besides," Angel added, "patience is a virtue."

"Let me correct you," Paul responded, "Patience was a virtue about a day ago, but now I've grown weary of waiting on you two."

"Relax, we've got something for you to do," Blake stated.

"I suppose anything's better than sitting around here," Paul said as he stood wearily, "What are you two doing at this time of night, anyways?"

"We've got some extra sharqskin," Blake informed, "and we were going to sell it to my sister. She deals in monsters."

"You mean she deals in poaching," Paul said accusingly.

"No, of course not," Blake responded, "She only buys and sells parts of monsters that hunters kill."

"Let's hope so," Paul said dismissively.

Angel paid for transport to Blake's village; he had offered to let the others stay in his hut for the night. What Paul had said concerned Blake. He never thought that his sister might get involved with poachers; he'd have to pay Luther a visit. When they completed the trip Blake found that his hut was empty. Hopefully his sister hadn't finished her work yet. He asked the others to stay at the hut while he went to see Luther.

Being a former hunter, Luther was the wealthiest person in town. His house was like those of Santonia; its contemporary architecture stood out from the quaint village surroundings. Blake was greeted by Luther at the door. He lead Blake to the central chamber of his mansion. On the walls hung portraits of the great and mighty Luther slaying all manner of beasts and the decapitated heads of various monsters. Though he obviously stewed in his own arrogance, Luther had been a friend of Blake's family for as long as he could remember. Still, Blake couldn't stand to look at the cocky grin on his face

"So Blake, what brings you to my home at this hour?" Luther asked, sipping from a glass of wine.

"I have some business for you, Luther," Blake answered.

"Why Blake," Luther said calmly, "I don't do business in my house. You'll have to arrange a transaction with one of my salesmen,".

"Well, that's just the thing," Blake stated, "I was looking for my sister."

"Oh, she's not here," Luther said, swishing his wine to and fro with a dismissive hand gesture, "I don't usually attend to her personally."

" Though I do recall her saying that she'd be going tomorrow," he said, Blake hated the tone of his voice, "With you I presume?"

"Yes, but she's not home." Blake stated pleadingly, "Do you have any clue where she might be?"

"She may still be out making sales. She's quite the hard worker," Luther said, uninterested.

A sickening grin formed on Luther's face, "It's a shame we have to lose her."

Blake couldn't think of anything else to say, he simply walked away. He saw the lingering vision of Luther's twisted smile in each of the portraits he saw. As Blake walked back to his hut he tried to lull himself into a state of denial.

Paul sat with Angel in Blake's hut. He tried to carry out pleasant conversation.

"So Angel," he said, "Why did you decide to become a hunter?"

Angel looked at Paul and blinked before she responded, as if she didn't expect him to speak to her.

"Why did I become a hunter . . . " she said, deep in thought, "I guess I don't have a particular reason."

Paul didn't believe her.

"Come now," He pleaded, "There's got to be some reason, even if you don't realize it."

"I guess there is," Angel admitted, "Maybe I wanted to be a hunter because of the power."

"Yeah," she continued, "I was drawn to the strength that hunters have. Their power over monsters, and even other people."

Paul still felt as though he hadn't drawn the complete answer from her, but before he could pry any further Blake burst into the hut.

"Nothing," he said with his head hung low.

"So you have no idea where she might be?" Paul questioned.

"She could be out working," Blake responded, "We'll have to go look for her."

"We'll look to the sides of the road," Paul recommended, "that's where _they_ usually do business,"

"Don't say things like that," Blake pleaded.

They walked the dirt path from Blake's village, hoping to find signs of a merchant caravan. Blake looked to the left and right, trying to find some trace of life, but the forest thwarted his search. Angel wondered how he strove on without shivering in his boots. The cold drove her crazy, but Blake's desperate search for his sister distracted him from his personal woes. Angel felt that the search was hopeless; the darkness was too oppressive to make out anything in the distance. At the rate they were going, they could search through the night and never find Blake's sister. Angel wondered why she was so willing to blindly follow these two.

"I mean no offense," she said bluntly, "but I'm still surprised to find myself helping a stranger look for his lost sister."

Blake ignored her and searched on, but Paul turned to her and spoke.

"Don't talk such nonsense, girl," he joked, "you know Blake better than most anyone."

"And how's that?" Angel questioned.

"You've hunted with him, so you've seen the way he fights and the way he thinks," Paul stated, "After all, combat is the purest form of human expression."

"Your words are hollow," Angel rebuked, "How can combat be the purest form of human expression when the goal in a fight is to deceive your opponent?"

"No, that's not right," Paul said, frustrated, "you've read into my words too much. I don't mean to say that combat does not deceive, in fact it makes no attempt to tell the truth, and that's precisely the point I'm trying to make."

"Deceit is a part of human nature, we can't delude ourselves and try to tell the truth all the time," Paul stated, his words were heavy with years of wisdom.

"So you mean to say that telling the truth is a lie?" Angel questioned.

Angel and Paul continued to bicker, but Blake paid them no attention. His eyes pierced the darkness and he noticed caravan tracks leading into the forest. Blake darted of to the tracks, giving the others no notice. Paul followed after him.

"What have you found?" he asked.

Paul and Angel followed Blake into the forest. The darkness was impregnable, as no moonlight pierced the trees, but Paul saw Blake run to the silhouette of a caravan ahead. Blake crumpled to his knees; he could find no signs of life. Paul laid a steady hand on Blake's shoulder

"There's no body," he stated, "We don't know that she's dead."

"Either way, she's not here!" Blake screamed.

"Have some patience," Angel interjected, "you'll surely find her someday."

Blake laughed at the prospect of ever seeing his sister again. He always swore that she depended on him too much, but he now realized how much he relied on her as well. The fact that she was gone only strengthened his resolve to leave home; he could never live there if she wasn't there as well. Change was the only thing that would clear his mind.

"We need to go," he said grimly.

"I'm glad to see that you can stay objective in a time of crisis," said Paul, "But for now we need some rest."

"I guess we can build a camp here," Angel stated.

Using supplies from the caravan's wreckage she built a makeshift tent. There the group would sleep for the night. Blake was troubled by his thoughts; he couldn't help but muse to himself.

_Humankind thinks of simple beasts as monsters but after seeing firsthand the atrocities that man can commit I realize that we're only trying to convince ourselves that we're not the true monsters._

Blake drifted into a fitful sleep, haunted by the nightmares that the world had offered him.

Blake awoke as if he had crossed over a thin veil into consciousness. He woke the others, and they began the trek back to Santonia. Blake felt horrible after sleeping in his wet armor, but even intense discomfort didn't distract him from his loss; anger was his only reprieve.

_Luther, that bastard, _he thought,_ recruiting children to do his dirty work. I'll see to it that he get's his punishment due._

Angel remembered Paul's words. She could see Blake's torment, and oddly enough, she felt that did share a sense of kinship with him. She realized that risking her life for people she barely knew was part of her profession, but she couldn't believe that she was so willing to leave everything she's ever known at the command of some old hunter. Could such willingness really be the result of a bond she shared with Blake? Angel tumbled over the thought until Santonia was finally in sight.

The group diverged when they reached Santonia. Angel left to retrieve the sharqskin garments, while Paul went to tie up loose ends. Blake headed to the guild hall. He hoped to report Luther to the guild on accounts of poaching, but he doubted they'd listen to him on his word alone. Upon entering the Guild Hall, he was promptly approached by the guild master.

"I recall leaving you under the supervision of Sir Paul", she said in an unpleasant tone.

"Indeed, lady guild master, and under his supervision I still am," Blake responded cordially.

"If you are still under his supervision, then why have you come to me alone?" the guild master asked, agitated.

"Sir Paul has business to attend to," Blake said, thinking on his feet, "Business that he would rather not have me accompany him to."

"Is that so?" she questioned, "Then why have you come to me?"

"I've come to you about a man named Luther," Blake stated.

"Luther," the guild master said as she thought, "Yes, I do remember a Luther. He retired not to long ago. What of him?"

"I believe that man to be a poacher," Blake said bluntly.

"You believe him to be a poacher?" The guild master said barely concealing her laughter, "Is that all? Don't you have any evidence, at least someone else to vouch for your claim?"

Blake's mind went blank. He could think of nothing that would help his case against Luther.

"Do you have anything else to say?" the guild master asked after some seconds.

"No, no I don't," Blake said, his voice trailing.

"Perhaps you don't realize how comical it is that you come here accusing a retired hunter of poaching after you were suspected of poaching yourself, and to make matters worse you give no evidence but your word to support your claim," she said harshly.

Blake winced, he hadn't expected the guild master's reception to be so harsh. As he walked out the door, he heard her speak.

"I will look into the matter, I promise no more," she said plainly.

Blake cursed himself for his foolishness. Of course the guild wouldn't arrest Luther without any evidence, such absurdity! Blake shuffled down the guild hall's prominent stairs as if he were descending into the depths of hell. From the corner of his eye he sighted a robed man dart off into an alleyway.

Meanwhile, Angel collected the two sharqskin outfits; after being finely worked the material had a distinct feel to it. On the inside the sharqskin felt quite like leather, but the outside was rough and pricked the skin. The outfit covered little, to Angel it seemed like the costume of a sea-faring prostitute, but she could tolerate its skimpiness. Besides, the male outfit was just as revealing, and she couldn't wait to see how Blake would respond to it. She reluctantly changed into the sharqskin clothes and hawked her armor (it wasn't valuable) to a local merchant. Though she felt exposed, Angel couldn't help but strut as she went on her way, the zenny in her pouch jingled satisfyingly as she walked.

Blake headed to the port with his nerves on edge. His eyes darted back and forth looking for signs of movement. This late at night the entire city was dark, so Blake quickened his pace. As he rounded a corner he bumped into a shadowy figure. Blake stumbled backwards only to see Angel standing before him. She was wearing a sharqskin garment. The outfit was a composite of blue sharqskin and white cloth that clung tightly to Angel's thighs. It was barred at the midriff, and was fitted snugly across her bosom.

"I don't like the way your eyes are wondering," she said impishly, calling Blake from his confusion.

"Oh, um excuse me," he said, his mouth dry, "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"You mean in such revealing clothing?" Angel asked, "Well It's not like I planed on wearing this."

"No, that's not what I mean," Blake said, trying to change the subject, "I think I'm being followed."

"Oh?" Angel said plainly, "Well I'm sure no one will want to follow you when they see you wearing this."

She held out Blake's sharqskin clothes. Much to his chagrin, they reminded Blake of ass-less chaps.

"_That's_ what sailors wear?" Blake shouted, "I prefer not to walk around with my ass cheeks hanging out."

"If I can put up with it, then you can," Angel said haughtily, "Besides, it's not as if you've got anything to show."

Ignoring Angel, Blake took the clothes and walked into a nearby alleyway so he could change. The darkness made it difficult to navigate the clasps of his armor, but when he had finally removed his clothes he realized that he had still been wet. Feeling his nakedness, Blake hurried into the sharqskin outfit, but he didn't feel any more clothed with it on. He did, however, feel much warmer. Something in his mind urged Blake to stand still, so for a brief moment he watched the darkness in front of him. He realized that he was looking into the face of a masked man. Blake dropped his armor to the ground as he quickly turned tail and ran. He shouted at Angel as he passed, and she rushed after him. Blake didn't see anyone following, but he wasn't willing to stop until he reached the port.

Paul had made closing arrangements for his voyage. Now he sat, chatting with the ship's captain. They shared stories of times passed, and the captain slapped his knee to Paul's jokes. Paul was suspicious, for it was getting late and neither Angel nor Blake had arrived, but as Paul chatted he heard the sound of hurried footsteps; someone was running his way. He listened closer, it sounded like more than one person. He turned to the sound of the noise and saw silhouettes dashing through the dark. It had to be Blake and Angel, but why were they running so frantically. Paul motioned to the captain and stood from his seat. Sure enough, he made out the forms of Blake and Angel headed towards him. He held out his palm, hoping to signal for them to slow down. They turned from a run to a jog and then a hasty walk.

"Why the rush?" Paul shouted when they reached earshot.

Blake spoke first.

"I've been seeing robed figures following me," he said through heavy breaths.

Then Angel.

"He left to change clothes, then he just came darting out from the alley, so I chased after him," she said, exhausted.

"I see, then we must leave right away," Paul said authoritatively.

"I had hoped to give you a proper introduction to this fine sea-faring vessel," Paul said, making grandiose hand gestures, "but since you've arrived in such a desperate state, and so late at that, I guess I'll simply say . . . "

"Welcome aboard the greatest ship to ever set sail! Welcome aboard the Argosy, sailors!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Journey

_A foolish man thinks he can avoid strife by running away, a wise man knows so._

Indeed the Argosy was an epic vessel. It was made from the finest wood, which shone at any angle; beautiful embosses bespeckled its surface. On the deck sailors busied about, carrying various burdens with them. With such an impressive ship came an equally impressive captain. His elegant robes coupled his immense longsword. Blake shivered as he walked up the plank to board the ship; his garments scarcely protected him from the night ocean breeze.

_Paul, that lucky bastard, _Blake thought, _how come_ _he gets to trounce around in his cozy Akantor armor._

From atop the deck Blake gazed out into the ocean. He watched the waves roll by, but before he could attempt to find an analogy for his sorrows in the waters he heard someone shout at him.

"Hey, you!" A sailor yelled at him.

"Yes?" Blake responded.

"The captain told me to direct you to your post," The sailor said.

"Sure, you're the boss," Blake said.

Blake was eager to attend to his duties; it might help him take his mind off of his sister for a bit. Luckily, Blake's only task was within his realm of expertise. All he had to do was help load some of the merchandise onto the ship. It was certainly heavy lifting, but nothing Blake wasn't used to.

From the moment Angel had set foot aboard the Argosy she felt constantly harassed; Innumerable sailors whistled at her. She tried not to be bothered by it, after all she was the only woman aboard the ship. But she felt that she was a victim of sexism, as she had been tasked with cleaning the ship. In the least, Angel wasn't the only one strutting about with her ass hanging out. What bothered her the most, however, was the constant rocking and swaying of the boat, which had worsened since they had set out from port. Through bouts of sea sickness Angel wondered where the ship was going. Paul refused to tell her; some nerve he had. It was partially his fault that she had been caught up in all this mess and he expected her to blindly follow his lead. Angel had been caught in a maelstrom, and she had no idea where it was headed.

Paul was accustomed to adventure; he had lived a long enough life to have already traveled much of the world, but this time he had brought others along with him. He was responsible for their fate, for taking them to safety. He wondered how Angel felt about being dragged into this, and he worried about Blake. Responsibility wasn't new to Paul, he had always hunted with companions who's lives were in his hands. He had seen friends die on the battlefield, but they had always been his equals. Now Paul felt more like he was shepherding those who were unable to guide themselves. More than ever, Paul hoped that he would make the right decisions.

After long hours of work, Blake was exhausted. He was directed to his cabin, where he would sleep for the remainder of the voyage. It was a homely little room, and Blake found the cot to be quite comfy. For a moment Blake wondered why he was the only one in the cabin, as there were two beds, but without pressing matters to attend to his thoughts soon drifted to his sister. It never seemed like Amie lived in the real world; she had always been a very gullible person and she tried to live vicariously through the exploits of others. Blake wished that Luther would have gotten what he deserved for taking advantage of Amie. A man like Luther didn't deserve to live; people like him were the reason why groups like the Servants of Fate existed. He deserved nothing less than to be hunted like a beast, just as Blake was being hunted. As odd as it was, Blake felt more kinship to monsters than his fellow hunters. Blake continued to think as he drifted into sleep.

Blake awoke to brilliant sunshine. The sunlight that glared through the window hurt his eyes, but he noticed that someone was sleeping in the cot across the room now. Eager to discover who his cabin-mate was Blake wandered over to the bed. In it lay Angel, sunlight glistening off of her face. Blake observed her modest brown hair. It was relatively short, and no bangs covered her closed eyes. Her voluminous lips were slightly parted. Blake stopped himself. He walked out the door and into a new day.

This had been Angel's only opportunity to rest for a while so she had slept in. Cleaning had kept her busy through the night, and it was already mid-morning when she awoke. She walked out onto the deck, the warm sea-breeze comforted her. Angel looked around for Blake or Paul, but she saw neither. She watched sailors around the boat, those with no duties to attend to fished to pass the time. One sailor in particular appeared to be struggling with his rod. He yelled something, but Angel wasn't paying attention. Suddenly, the sailors scattered about yelling as to each-other as they ran.

"All hands on deck!" Angel heard someone shout again and again.

Angel stood at the side of the struggling sailor and looked into the water. What she saw made her stumble backwards.

Paul had been called to the deck; word was that one of the sailors has something big on the line. Paul was reminded of once when a fisherman had managed to pull a Royal Ludroth onto the boat and it had to be slain on deck, but he doubted that they'd see any ludroth this far out at sea. No, this had to be different.

Angel tried to keep her balance. Between the rocking of the boat and the people rushing by she had nearly fallen over. She was shocked that that sailor had caught a Lagiacrus, even more so that the beast was still on his line. Angel heard a crash as she was thrown off of her feet; she hit the ground with a thud. She tried to catch a grip as the boat was tilted. A thunderous ring erupted from the bow of the ship; from the corner of her eye she saw the Lagiacrus nearly leap from the water. On its chest was a fresh wound.

Paul had seen the beast leap when the battle-gong was struck. The thing had tried to capsize the ship, but the Argosy would not flip so easily. Nevertheless, Paul knew that he would have to go into the water to face the Lagiacrus. It was wounded, so it was especially dangerous. Paul looked around the ship; he wanted to avoid as many casualties as he could. Many of the sailors, including Angel had been knocked over and were struggling to keep from sliding into the sea as the boat swayed to and fro, but Paul didn't see Blake anywhere.

Blake and three other sailors swam beside the argosy as the waves tossed them every which way. They had been thrown overboard during the commotion. Much to his surprise, Blake stayed afloat with ease; the sharq-skin clothes made him feel like an Olympic swimmer. The sailors on the ship tried to cast down ropes to help, but the rocking of the ship made them impossible to climb. Whatever was on the other side of the ship was wreaking havoc, and only the ship stood between whatever it was and Blake.

Paul dived into the waters. Within the blue depths he tangled with the Lagiacrus. It was his responsibility to slay the beast as he was the only one who had brought his weapon aboard the ship. While Paul knew he wasn't in his glory days anymore, he didn't think much of a single Lagiacrus. Paul was intrigued by the wound on the creature's chest. Some inexperienced hunter must have harmed it without finishing the job, but that only managed to get innocents killed. Either way, the Lagiacrus was Paul's burden now. He was startled by how difficult it was to swing his sword underwater. Paul was out of his element, but he knew how to adapt. It wouldn't take many blows from his sword to slay the beast. His Akantor greatsword might not have been the sharpest sword out there, but it was truly a masterwork of forgery. The Lagiacrus was nimble, however, it spun and coiled to evade Paul's attacks. Before long, Paul found that he was running out of air, he wished that he had been better prepared for this fight. Paul waited for the creature to strike. They began a deadly game of chicken as the Lagiacrus rushed towards Paul. When the beast was within Paul's reach he swung, but the Lagiacrus swerved. Paul had only nicked it. Paul had no choice but to surface for air, but he didn't want the Lagiacrus to think he was retreating. He gasped for air when he reached the surface, and the Lagiacrus was nowhere to be seen.

Blake was worried when the waves worsened. None of the sailors had been able to make it on board and the sea didn't show any signs of calming down. Blake looked around to the others, who all bore hopeless expressions on their faces. More and more deckhands were trying to help them now; Blake even thought he saw Angel, but still the boat swayed to much for the ropes to be climbed. Blake watched the green sea waves lap against him. The ocean's surface adopted a strange, iridescent glow; a glow that Blake recognized. He panicked and swam for the side of the boat screaming to the others as he did. Blake watched with horror as the other sailors were tossed into the air. Strong waves dragged Blake under the water. He could see the Lagicarus, clothed in a spectral glow, as it sparked with an electrical aura. The sailors plopped into the water one by one and twitched violently as the were electrocuted to death. Blake was awashed by an overpowering sense of hopelessness; he let himself sink into the darkening depths.

Angel was devastated; she no longer saw any life with in the tumultuous waters below her. All that remained were charred corpses. She lamented for Blake. In the least he had been as good of a friend as Angel had ever known. Maybe he had been more, but it pained Angel to think about it. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as the boat swayed to and fro.

_ What was Paul doing?_, she asked herself, _What good was a master hunter when he couldn't even save a few lives?_

Angel stopped herself, she knew it wasn't Paul's fault.

Paul decided to cut underneath the boat to get to the Lagicrus as fast as he could. He had to feel his way alongside the boat in the darkness of the ocean. As he swam, he bumped into something heavy. It was a sailor, though Paul couldn't identify him in the darkness. He checked the sailor's pulse, his heartbeat was faint, but he was alive. Paul carried the sailor with him. He was cautious of the Lagiacrus that thrashed against the boat as he swam for the surface.

Angel struggled to hold onto the railing while the boat rocked viciously. She still had a clear view of the water, from which she saw two forms arise. She was sure it was Paul and Blake; her heart leaped with joy at the sight of them. She never realized how much she cared for this man until he was nearly gone. Perhaps she simply felt camaraderie for a fellow hunter, or maybe she had been charmed by his simplicity. Hunting was a part of Blake, through and through, and Angel liked that about him. Her worries didn't cease, however, as the Lagiacrus had turned its attention to Paul and Blake now.

Paul had recognized the sailor as Blake, but he was barely conscious. As the Lagiacrus approached, Paul pushed the disoriented Blake behind him. He formed a plan: Since he couldn't swing his sword quickly underwater he would hit the Lagiacrus with an overhead swing from above the water's surface. He raised his sword as the beast shrouded itself in lightning. Paul lifted himself out of the water as much as he could while the Lagiacrus rushed at him. The beast snapped its maw as it neared closer and closer to Paul. Finally, he swathed his sword through the air and crushed the Lagiacrus' skull into dust. Its lifeless body smashed against Paul and he was greeted by the gruesome sight of the creature's mutilated face. He heard deafening cheers from the ship as he pushed the corpse aside.

Blake was shaken. The brutality of the Lagiacrus' death seemed wrong somehow. It was the same feeling he got with the assassins, though he didn't quite understand it. He had killed his fare share of creatures and never felt the slightest remorse, but now when he compared the lives of humans to the lives of beasts he couldn't help but wonder if all of this was right. Blake quieted his thoughts and concentrated on staying afloat. Paul turned to him

"Close one, eh?" he said.

"More than I would have liked," Blake responded.

"I just wish we hadn't lost so many," Paul said grimly.

"Yeah," Blake said, his voice trailing off.

The two floated in silence as the waters quieted. Paul and Blake climbed back aboard the ship, and the sailors dragged the Lagiacrus' corpse on board. The dead sailors would be given burials at sea. Blake simply stood as he saw Angel approach.

"I almost thought we lost you there," she said, "I bet that got your adrenaline pumping?"

"I was a bit busy drowning for that, but I'm glad to hear you care," Blake said with a huge grin.

"I try," Angel said as she shrugged; Blake could see a smile on her face.

Blake watched as the dead sailors were given there burials.

_That easily could have been me_, he thought to himself.

Dodging death gave Blake a grim thrill. He didn't want to admit it to Angel, but his heart was still pounding. He didn't like to think that the death of others invigorated him, but he felt like his hope was renewed. Blake felt like he could achieve revenge for his sister's death, or maybe he would never have to. After all, why would a group of assassins track him across the sea?

Paul sat, the sunlight warmed his soggy armor. He hated to see good men die, but he knew he was reaching an age where he could no longer be the hero. He had to pass the torch eventually. Paul's thoughts wandered, he knew he couldn't force Blake and Angel to follow him if they didn't know what they were up against. They had made a scene back at Santonia, and they wouldn't escape so easily. Whether assassins would hunt them down or they would run into trouble with the guild, eventually things would catch up with them. Whenever that happened, Paul doubted that he could be the hero to save them.

Chapter End

-Merry Christmas


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Arrival

_The journey may be long, the trials may be arduous, but it's the destination that counts._

Blake tended to his duties on the ship. It had only been a day since the Lagiacrus attack, but surely they'd arrive at port soon. What concerned Blake was that he had no idea what port that might be. Paul had constantly told him "You'll see when we get there," but Blake couldn't help but worry. He had never heard anything about cities this far away from Santonia. As he stacked crates, Blake heard footsteps. He turned to see Paul approaching.

"Ah, you're just on time!" Blake shouted to him.

"Time for what, boy?" Paul asked.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," Blake sated, "You have to tell me where we're going."

"I can tell you," Paul responded, "but what's the point of telling a man of a place he's never heard of?"

Blake furrowed his brow, "Trust me, any bit of info will help."

"Alright," Paul stated, "we're headed to the port town of Avelucia. The guild doesn't have much influence there."

"You're right, that's not any city I've heard of, but why would the Argosy trade with such a backwater town?" Blake asked.

"I never said that Avelucia was a backwater town," Paul responded, "I simply said that the guild doesn't have a strong presence there. You'll see what I mean when we get there."

Blake heard the faint sound of bells coming from above deck.

"Speak of the devil," Paul joked.

Angel felt the ship come to a stop; it made her stomach lurch. Apparently they had arrived at a port. Angel looked out upon what was only a city in name. Thrifty people bustled about below, scuttling across streets that were coated in a thin layer of filth even in the cleaner areas. The sight caused Angel's nausea to overcome her. As she vomited Angel heard her name being called; Blake approached her.

"Surely this is just a stop on our journey, right?" Angel asked, dismay evident in her voice.

"I wish I could tell you that," Blake said with his head hung low, "but I'm afraid this is our new home."

_Our new home! _Angel thought, _it's his fault I got caught up in all this and he has the audacity to say that this is Our New Home!_

Blake looked startled, apparently he had noticed his choice of words as well. Angel started to shout, but instead she shut her mouth tight. She stormed off the ship in an attempt to just get away from it all. She didn't check to see if Blake was following her, and she had no idea where she was going, but she didn't care. Angel struggled through crows of people hoping to make her way to a more secluded place.

Blake watched Angel work her way through the crowds. He wanted to follow her, but he wouldn't leave without consulting Paul. When Blake found Paul he was giving his farewells to the captain. Blake interrupted them.

"Paul!" he shouted, "Angel just stormed off into the city."

"Why would she do that?" Paul asked.

"It must have been something I said," Blake mumbled, scratching his head as he did.

"Do you have any idea where she went?" Paul asked.

"No," Blake said.

"Then we have to look for her. Now," Paul stated intensely, "It's not safe to wander the streets of Avelucia."

The look in Paul's eyes troubled Blake. How dangerous could this city be?

Angel had been wandering for some time, and she found herself in a narrow alleyway. Her rage had subsided somewhat, causing her to be even more disturbed by the cityscape surrounding her. The streets were in bad repair, and the buildings seemed like they could crumble at any moment. Disgusting sites lined the gutters to the side of the streets; Angel wondered if any corpses were hidden there, the smell certainly didn't convince her otherwise. To either direction the alleyway seemed only to lead into more alleyways. She was ashamed of getting lost so easily. Angel was begging to understand why the guild didn't have a strong presence here.

Blake followed Paul as they searched for Angel. He saw the face of many a beggar wrinkle in dismay when they realized they would get no coin from him. Had his simple statement made Angel so furious that she felt the need to get herself lost in this unfamiliar city?

_Women,_ he thought to himself.

To Blake, Avelucia seemed to be specifically designed for thieves, and he spotted a few passerby who certainly seemed to fit the bill. Blake worried for Angel, as Paul was the only one with a weapon on him, and her sharq-skin outfit probably attracted plenty of attention. He quickened his pace, practically tossing aside anyone who blocked his path.

Angel had tried to make her way out of the complex system of alleyways, but she only found herself more confused. Flabbergasted, she slumped against the cleanest wall she could find. After moments of silence, a shadow cast over her. She turned to the shadow's source, a bulky man vested in black garments that Angel could scarcely make out in the darkness.

"Yer coin," the man said in a gruff, scratchy voice.

Angel didn't respond.

"What's wrong with ye?" the man asked, "I want yer coin."

The man's voice irritated Angel. She wrenched at every his every utterance.

"Don't make me take it from ye," the man said as he placed a heavy hand on Angel's shoulder.

That was the final straw. Angel socked the man in the jaw. He reeled for a moment, but he quickly recovered.

"A fight's fine by me little lady," the man stated, "Just tell me: Do you want me to hurt you a little, or a lot?"

Paul could see Blake's urgency. The dedication he showed to this woman brought back memories, but Paul couldn't let his mind wander. Paul's knowledge of Avelucia was limited. He had not acquainted himself with the labyrinth of a town; he wondered if people who spent their entire lives in Avelucia could find their way around. He hoped Angel hadn't traveled too far, for there were places in Avelucia where even screams could not escape. Already, Paul felt the burden of responsibility bearing down upon him.

Angel had no choice but to fight the man. She might not have been as big as her opponent, but she was more nimble. If she could pepper him with jabs, then she might be able to wear him down. The man threw a heavy-handed hook; Angel dodged it and jabbed him in the gut. He didn't flinch, instead he just kept swinging. Angel continued to take advantage of the man's wild swings, but it didn't seem that she was affecting him. The man was encroaching on Angel as they fought, and he was beginning to back her into a wall. She tried to stave him off, but she couldn't get him to budge. The man was close enough for Angel to smell his fetid breath. Angel could see no way to seize victory, she prepared for the man to deliver a knock-out blow, but he simply stood. His face twisted grotesquely as his body lost balance. The man fell towards Angel; His bulky body knocking her head against the wall. Her vision blurred as her consciousness began to fade. Her last sight was that of a robed man with blood dripping from his hands.

Blake scrambled through the alleyways looking for signs of Angel's crossing.

"There must be some way we can find her," Blake stated in an attempt to convince himself.

"Lad, look there," Paul said, pointing to a blotch of fresh blood on the ground.

Blake's eyes grew wide. Within the reflection of the blood he saw scenes of Angel's death. He couldn't lose another loved one, not so soon. He followed the trail of blood at a feverish pace. Soon he stumbled across Angel's unconscious body, half covered by the corpse of a large man dressed in black. Blake immediately saw the wound on the man's back; he was overjoyed that the blood was not Angel's.

"What exactly happened here?" Blake asked rhetorically.

"Why not just ask the lady when she wakes," Paul said, motioning to Angel.

With Paul's assistance, Blake managed to lift the corpse off of Angel. He checked her for wounds, finding a rather bad gash on the back of her head. It looked like her head had banged against the wall pretty hard.

"That's quite the injury she's got there," Paul stated, "We'll have to meet with my contact to get her some medical attention."

"Contact," Blake questioned, "You have a contact here?"

"Of course," Paul responded, "Do you think I'd take you to a place where I don't have connections?"

Paul's statement unnerved Blake. He couldn't imagine that having connections in Avelucia was a good thing.

"Just who is this contact?" Blake asked.

"My contact is an old friend," Paul answered, "I may only have visited here once, but I never said how long that visit was."

"Okay," Blake continued, "Then where does this contact live?"

"Only in the filthiest, most dilapidated district of Avelucia," Paul stated, "In fact, we shouldn't be too far from there if we can make our way out of this maze."

Blake gently lifted Angel over his shoulder. He felt her soft flesh, but touching her while she was unconscious felt wrong. He followed Paul's lead until they had finally worked their way out of the labyrinth.

They walked with crowds of people. Many eyes looked Blake's way, but a surprising number of people didn't seem the slightest bit troubled by the fact that he was carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder. He could tell how close they were getting to their destination by the deteriorating conditions. He nearly bumped into Paul when he abruptly stopped. Their final destination was a small, unassuming house. Like all houses in Avelucia it was directly connected to other houses on either side, but unlike many others it was two stories high. Paul knocked gently on the door and waited for a reply. The door creaked open, and Blake followed Paul in.

The interior of the house surprised Blake. It was quaintly decorated, but neatly arranged. Unlike the city outside, the house was pristine. Overall, this seemed like a house that anyone would be proud to live in. The only resident appeared to be an aged woman. She wore simple garments, but she seemed very comfortable. Blake wished he could say the same thing for himself; he had been trying for hours to prevent a wedgie that had finally set in. Paul shared a few words with the woman, and almost immediately she helped him to remove his armor. She seemed surprised by Paul's presence; Blake wondered if Paul had told her in advance that he'd be here. Blake watched them talk, they didn't say much, but Blake could sense a deep familiarity between them.

It had been a while since Blake had seen his master outside of his armor. He had almost forgotten that his master was approaching the later years of his life. Grey hairs dotted his brown mane, and wrinkles had formed on his brow. Blake could never forget his master's scar, however. The old wound ran from the corner of his mouth to his brow, rendering him blind in his left eye. It constantly surprised Blake that a man who looked so haggard could be so full of vigor; indeed Paul was much like an aging lion. Now all of Paul's armor had been removed, leaving him burdened only by an arming doublet. The woman told Blake to lay Angel on the couch as she left upstairs.

"Who is that woman," Blake asked Paul.

"That's Marigold," Paul responded plainly.

"Okay, but who is she?" Blake continued.

"As I told you, she is simply Marigold," Paul said with a smirk.

Ignoring Paul's evasiveness, Blake turned to Angel. She looked tranquil, despite being unconscious.

"Here lad," Blake heard Marigold say, he had not heard her come down the stairs.

She handed him a jar of salve and some bandages.

"I can tell by the way that you look at that girl that you should be the one to treat her wounds," Marigold stated, her voice was gentle, much like a song.

Blake tended to Angel's wounds, but his only thought was who this mysterious woman was.

_Chapter end_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Flashback

_Knowledge of the past makes knowledge of the future_

Blake gently wrapped Angel's head with bandages, taking special care not to pull at her hair. He heard Paul and Marigold chatting from the other room.

"What exactly brings you here, Paul?" Marigold asked, "Surely this isn't a simple visit, what with the young man and wounded woman in tow?"

"I wish it were better circumstances, but I've found myself on the run," Paul responded.

"On the run, huh? That brings back memories," Marigold said with a chuckle. Her laugh was not an innocent giggle, but rather the kind of laugh that could grow on a man over time.

Their conversation made Blake wonder. They spoke of times in Paul's life of which Blake was unaware.

After he had finished bandaging Angel Blake couldn't help but ask, "What's this I hear of people going on the run?"

"There's one thing you should understand, Blake," Paul said to him sternly, "not everyone is born into their profession like you."

"I object," Blake rebuked, "I only started training to become a hunter when I was ten."

"My point exactly," Paul stated, "but some of us spend the early years of our life running about in search of our calling. Sometimes it takes a turning point in a person's life for them to come to their senses."

Blake was intrigued; he had never thought of Paul as anything but a hunter.

"What exactly did you do before you became a hunter, then?" Blake asked.

"You misunderstand me," Paul responded, "It's not as though I did anything in specific."

"Suffice to say he enjoyed his free time," Marigold interjected.

"Did you grow up here or something?" Blake asked, trying to delve into the secrets of his mentor's life.

"I didn't exactly grow up in Avelucia," Paul responded, "Remember, I told you that I only visited here once. I actually lived in a small village not far from here."

Blake was puzzled, "How have I never heard any of this?"

"It's simple, you never asked," Paul said bluntly.

"Well since we have the time I'm asking now," Blake said.

"If that's the case then you should seat yourself," Paul commanded, "This is a long story."

Paul was raised in a simple village. The only thing that anchored him there was his one childhood friend with whom he spent much of his time, and as Paul grew older he became more and more dissatisfied with simple village life. When his childhood friend moved away Paul could no longer bring himself to stay in the town. He decided to leave for the city, of which he had heard many interesting tales. His parents did not object to Paul's passing, as he would be more likely to find a job there. Thus he began the trek to Avelucia. The trail was long, and there were few passerby, making for an extremely dull trip. About halfway through his journey Paul stopped to rest. He shut his eyes for but a moment before he heard the cry of a wild beast; approaching Paul was a vicious Velociprey. With no weapons to defend himself, Paul had no hope of killing the beast. Without warning the Velociprey leaped at Paul. He narrowly avoided what would have been a fdeath blow, but one of the Velociprey's talons gouged the left side of his face. He heard the sickening tune of his flesh tearing as the vision in his left eye vision turned to black. Paul's mind was permanently stained with the image of the Velociprey's blood-red claw, but he refused to give up. Blake ran from the beast as fast as his legs would take him, the Velociprey following close behind him. He heard a curious drone as he fled for his life. Soon the drone became a thunderous roar, it drowned out the sound of Paul's frantic heartbeat. He caught sight of a Aptonoth-lead caravan in the distance. With renewed hope Paul gave a mad dash for the caravan.

"Hold!" he heard someone shout.

The Aptonoth reared up as the caravan came to a halt. A rugged man dismounted the caravan, drawing a rather large knife as he did. Paul winced as the man ran past him. The man's knife found its way to the Velociprey's throat before it could react. Obviously this man was accustomed to dispatching beasts.

"The thing got you something fierce, didn't it?," the man said as he approached Paul.

Paul was unable to respond. He refused to acknowledge the wound's existence, though the trickle of blood assured him it was real.

After examining Paul's wound the man shouted to the caravan, "Marigold, we've got a wounded young man here!"

"That's awful, father, should I see to him?" the young woman said as she peeked her head into Paul's sight.

"Yes dear that would be lovely," the man responded as he lead Paul onto the caravan.

Perhaps it was the loss of blood affecting him, but Paul found Marigold to be exquisitely beautiful. He sat, finding it difficult to focus. Marigold was speaking words to him, but they sounded muddy and incomprehensible. She applied salve to his wound; the pain was the only thing that seemed real. As it set into motion the caravan rocked severely, making Paul even more uncomfortable. He greatly wished to fade into unconsciousness, but Marigold enchanted him.

Marigold marveled at his endurance, "My, you're a hardy one, but you really should get some sleep."

Her voice was like a lullaby to Paul, he could no longer tell if he was awake or not.

Nightmares of vicious beasts haunted Paul for what seemed like decades until he finally awoke in a homely room. He felt like he was on fire, and sweat poured down his face.

"You're awake!" Marigold shouted from a chair beside him.

Paul wasn't too sure that her statement was true. He raised himself up on his elbows, they sank into the cushy bed.

"Be careful not to move around too much," Marigold stated, "You've been running a fever for some time now."

"Thank you for allowing me into your lovely house," Paul said through his stupor.

Though his gratitude was sincere he desperately wanted to gain Marigold's favor, and it was evident in his tone.

"I'm glad to hear that you're grateful," Marigold said with a chuckle, her laugh was addictive.

"Well then stranger, who are you?" She asked

"Me?" Paul said quizzically, "I'd rather hear your story first."

Paul wanted to bide time so he could think of ways to embellish his life's story.

"Okay, my story begins sixteen years ago," Marigold began, "and it has been sixteen years hence."

Paul waited for her to say more, but she remained silent.

"Surely your life is interesting enough to warrant more detail that that," Paul pleaded.

"Of course it is, but I've only just met you. Besides, you made me go first," Marigold stated, crossing her arms.

"Why tell me so little when you asked me the same?" Paul questioned.

"I only wanted to know who you are, I don't need your life story," Marigold said bluntly.

Paul realized that he had been so willing to tell this girl everything about him whether she wanted to hear it or not. He shouldn't be so possessed by her beauty.

"If that's the case then my name is Paul, and I've inhabited this world for seventeen years," Paul said.

"It's nice to meet you Paul," Marigold said, offering her hand.

As Paul struggled to shake Marigold's hand he got a closer look at her face. Closeness did damage her beauty somewhat, as Paul could see the imperfections that marked her skin, but Paul still found her wonderful. Her complexion was tan, and her dark brown hair was smooth and long. Paul looked deep into her eyes; he could not perfectly pinpoint their color, as it shifted from green to brown in specific places. Paul saw a faint reflection of himself in her eyes and instinctively reached for his bandaged face. He panicked, for he knew that a maiden of this caliber would never accept the damaged goods that he had to offer. Marigold clasped her hand around his.

"I'm sorry that you suffered such a grievous injury," she said softly, "Father constantly tells me about how the hunter's don't do their jobs, and now you've been hurt."

"I never thought much of monsters until now," Paul admitted, "They never seemed like an immediate threat . . . " he trailed off.

"My father always has to protect his caravan by himself while those hunters sit in the lap of luxury for doing nothing," Marigold said, her voice filled with rage.

"They should be making sure the roads are safe," Paul said with an affirmative nod.

"Indeed they should," Marigold said as she pulled her hand away from his.

Paul hadn't realized how closely they had been talking.

"Oh well," Paul said with a sigh, "I think I can sleep for now having learned some things about you."

"Oh really? What is it that you've learned?" Marigold asked coyly.

"I can tell that you care a great deal about your father," Paul stated, "and that you're keen to injustice."

"I've learned some things about you too," Marigold mentioned.

"Is that true?," Paul questioned, "Please do share with me."

"You're toady," Marigold said bluntly, "and you have good taste in women."

"You've pinned me perfectly!" Paul said enthusiastically, but he was growing tired. He wished to continue his conversation with Marigold, but he could stay awake no longer.

Paul Awoke with his vigor restored; he felt no signs of a fever whatsoever. Now he was by his lonesome, however, so he quickly got out of bed. He wandered into the den to find Marigold arguing with her father.

"I beg you petition the guild, father!" Marigold yelled, "It's their duty to make the roads safe, and I worry about you!"

"Corruption will not be undone so easily, my dear," Marigold's father said to her softly, "Trust that I will return and fate shan't deny your request."

Tears welled in Marigold's eyes, "I see that there's no way I can persuade you. Goodbye father."

"I much prefer that you tell me 'see you soon,' but good bye my dear. I will be back," Marigold's father said as he walked out the door.

Paul could tell that Marigold's father was a brave man. He trusted that he would return to her.

"You're right to worry for him," Paul stated, "but have faith in his safety."

"Surely you would worry about your own father in this situation! After our last trip I'm just not sure anymore," Marigold's words faded to a whisper.

Paul remained silent, for Marigold's spoke the truth. He could think of no words to console her, so he grasped her within his arms. Marigold gave him a queer look. Startled, Paul released her.

"I understand the gesture, but I think you're a little under-dressed to be clinging to women you've only just met," Marigold said bluntly.

Paul looked upon himself, he wore nothing more than simple leggings, as he had been bedridden for days.

"Why do I have to be the one that's under-dressed," Paul jested.

"You're foul," Marigold shouted as she jabbed him in the gut.

Paul pretended that she had sent him reeling though her punch had done little more that tickle. He fell to the ground mock-shouting in pain.

"Cry baby," Marigold said playfully.

Paul stopped thrashing about an lay flat on his back.

"Since you insist that I must clothe myself," Paul stated, "What would you recommend that I wear?"

"You'll find some of my father's clothes upstairs," Marigold said, pointing to the staircase, "You can wear them for the time being."

Paul made his way to Marigold's father's room. Though it made him uncomfortable he rummaged through drawers of clothes looking for something suitable to wear. He threw on a simple vest and some moccasins before heading back downstairs.

Marigold greeted him as he reentered the den, "I guess you'll be taking your leave now. I'm sure you have some place to be that your injury has delayed you from reaching,"

"Actually, I was headed here to Avelucia looking to make a living," Paul responded, "but now that I'm here I have no idea what to do."

Marigold looked upon Paul with piercing eyes.

"Heed my warning, there are few means of income here in Avelucia that an honest man should involve himself in," Marigold said somberly.

"Oh really?" Paul questioned, his interest piqued.

"You don't look like the type to engage in thievery," Marigold stated, "but often times thievery will worm its way into your pockets."

"My, what a font of wisdom you are," Paul marveled, "Surely a wise person such as yourself would welcome the company of one soul that would love to indulge in more of your your knowledge."

"If you're asking if you can stay here, I suppose I can't refuse someone as homeless as yourself," Marigold said jokingly.

Homeless, Paul had only now realized the implications of that statement. He knew nothing of Avelucia, and he had no where to go.

"Well then, I'll be back," Paul stated, "Only I'll have zenny with me this time."

"Go ahead and get to that so I attend to my chores in peace," Marigold said, motioning to the door.

With the last words said, Paul walked into the streets of Avelucia.

Almost immediately, Paul was thoroughly lost. He would have to make his way to town on intuition. Paul decided to follow the flow of passerby, hoping they would take him to a place where some work was available. He converged into the unorganized stream of people, trying to keep track of landmarks in his head. The walk was rough, as people bumped into Paul from all angles.

"Pickpocket!" he heard someone shout.

The crowd did not disperse despite the disturbance. Paul could not tell who the criminal had been, but they had surely escaped without a hitch. Paul felt that something should be done, but the general disregard of the people surrounding him was infectious. Eventually, Paul caught sight of some merchants peddling their wares, so he decided to break off from the group. He approached one of the merchants who didn't seem to be getting much business.

At his approach the man asked, "Looking to buy, sir?"

"Not quite," Paul responded, "I'm looking for work."

"Would this work happen to be the honest or dishonest variety?" the merchant questioned.

Paul was startled that the man had asked such a thing so openly.

"I'm looking for honest work of course," Paul stated, "Why would a merchant like yourself involve himself in such things?"

"It's simple," the merchant said knavishly, "If you can't beat them, then join them."

Paul remained silent.

"Listen," the merchant continued, "I can tell that you're new here, so I guess I can find something for you to do."

"Simply tell me what you need done and I will do it," Paul said confidently.

The merchant had Paul assist his customers in transporting their purchases to their houses. In the process he developed a better understanding of the city. Paul worked throughout the day, but the merchant had paid him well. Maybe it had warmed the man's heart to see someone actually willing to work for their zenny. Paul counted out his earnings. He decided to buy Marigold a girt, she was giving him a place to stay after all. He browsed the marketplace, looking for something suitable as a token of his favor. Finally, he came upon a trinket vendor, from whom he purchased a pristine necklace. He traced the landmarks back to Marigold's house. As he walked, Paul felt a ruffle in his pocket; he turned to meet the gaze of a man wearing a ragged cloak.

"Pickpocket!" Paul shouted instinctively, though he realized that it would do him no good.

The thief darted through the crowds, and Paul followed, pushing people aside as he went. Paul was chasing the pickpocket through alleyways now. It was difficult to track his path, as the thief took lefts and rights at random. The pickpocket was faster than Paul, but Paul was determined to retrieve what was his. In the rush of the chase, the thief clumsily tripped over a homeless man sleeping in the street; Paul pounced on the criminal. He tore at the man's robes to recover what had been stolen from him. The pinned thief looked hopelessly up at Paul; Paul recognized him.

"Lorenzo?" Paul questioned, sure he was hallucinating.

"How do you know my name," the thief responded.

"You've just stolen from your old friend," Paul said jovially, "It's me, Paul."

"Your eye," Lorenzo said, pointing a feeble finger at Paul's bandaged face, "What happened?"

"It's a long story," Paul said as he stood, "Perhaps I'll tell you after you've returned what's mine."

Lorenzo held out the glittering necklace that Paul had just bought. Paul snatched it from his hands and returned it to his pouch.

"Thievery doesn't suit you," Paul said, offering to help Lorenzo stand.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Lorenzo responded, taking Paul's hand.

"You may agree with me, but I get the feeling that you'll continue on stealing regardless," Paul said condescendingly.

"That need not be the case," Lorenzo stated, "Alone I am a pickpocket, but it would only take an accomplice for me to accomplish much more."

"I have no desire to live a life of crime, Lorenzo, and neither should you," Paul said dismissively.

"Think of where you are," Lorenzo pleaded, "In Avelucia there is no clear distinction between thievery and business."

Though it pained him to admit it, Paul knew that Lorenzo's words were true.

"I'm listening," Paul said reluctantly.

"It's not difficult to find work in Avelucia if you don't let your morals get in the way," Lorenzo began, "Together the two of us could make more zenny than we could count."

"You're exaggerating," Paul accused.

"Not at all," Lorenzo said haughtily, "Meet me at the marketplace tomorrow at sunrise and you'll see."

"I'll think about it," Paul said as he turned to walk away.

Before rounding the corner, Paul took one look back at Lorenzo, who was just standing still in the dusk. Paul continued back to Marigold's house, retracing the path as well as he could remember.

Paul knocked at Marigold's door, and she promptly opened the door for him.

"It's quite late," Marigold said, blocking the doorway, "What's kept you so long?"

"I found a spot of work. The honest variety," Paul responded, brandishing his bag of coin.

"You're right, that's not nearly enough money to be made from thievery," Marigold said as she stepped aside.

Paul laughed to himself; Marigold behaved much like a nagging housewife.

"Well _honey_," Paul said emphatically, "I was concerned about you too."

He held out the sparkling necklace that he had bought earlier and Marigold's eyes leaped at the sight of it.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, "You're really trying aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Paul said, placing the necklace around Marigold's neck, "and I hope that my efforts will manifest a gift in return that's much more physical."

"You're an impatient one!" Marigold shouted, taken aback

"Indeed," Paul said plainly, "and I find that I am impatient for sleep as well."

"You say that as if I'll be coming with you," Marigold said.

"Are you?" Paul asked debonairly.

Paul had made his move. After all, Marigold was already in her nightgown.

"Of course not," Marigold said bluntly.

"That's a shame," Paul said, as he made his way to his quarters.

Paul changed into simpler garments and lay down to rest. His anxiety drove away the sweet caress of the night. Try as he might, he couldn't help but think about what Lorenzo was planning. Paul had always been a moral person, at least that's how he saw himself. He found it odd to see how easily he could be persuaded to ignore his conscious. Paul tossed and turned in bed for some time until the sound of footsteps caught his attention; a shadowy figure crept towards his bed. Paul feigned sleep while the figure stood beside him. He risked a glimpse, seeing Marigold, who was climbing into bed with him. She wrapped her arms around him, bringing Paul the sleep that had been evading him all night.

When Paul awoke Marigold was still in a deep slumber. To Paul it seemed like Marigold was looking for someone to cling to for support while her father was gone; Paul was glad that he was the one that she found. He left bed without disturbing her. After getting dressed, Paul took a look outside. It was nearing sunrise, his appointed meeting time with Lorenzo. Paul traveled to the marketplace, following the same route he had before. He looked around for signs of Lorenzo, but he found none. It seemed like hours until Paul felt a touch upon his back. Behind him stood Lorenzo, dressed in true thieve's garb.

"Took you long enough," Paul complained.

"The wait will be worth the money," Lorenzo said confidently.

"Inform me of your grand scheme, then," Paul insisted.

"My plan is a simple one," Lorenzo began, "Since there are few in Avelucia who enjoy the hunter's guild's presence, their money will be easy to take. Their coffers may be lined with gold, but they are lazy and complacent."

"If it would be so easy, why has the guild not been robbed blind alredy?" Paul questioned.

"That's easy to explain," Lorenzo said, "any band of thieves worth its salt has an . . . agreement with the guild. This agreement sees to it that the guild has the support of nearly all of the thieves in Avelucia"

"If that's the case then they would all be after us if we managed to succeed," Paul stated.

"Nonsense!" Lorenzo rebuked, "There's no honor among thieves, and I'm sure they can't stand the guild anyways."

"All we have to deal with is the guild, and what can they do?" Lorenzo continued.

"I do see the profit to be made," Paul admitted.

"I knew you'd see things my way," Lorenzo said proudly, "Meet me here at sunset if you're still planning to go through with this."

"May we make a fortune my friend," Paul said as he walked away.

As Paul worked his way back to Marigold's house he reveled in anticipation of the heist.

Almost immediately as Paul knocked on the door Marigold answered.

"Looks like you couldn't stay away from me," she said playfully.

"Maybe not," Paul said with a shrug, "but is that such a bad thing?"

"I guess not," Marigold admitted, "Though I do feel that you should be out working."

"Money isn't so important that a man should neglect beauty," Paul stated , stroking Marigold's cheek.

"I have the feeling that most people might disagree with you there," Marigold stated.

"Those people are fools," Paul said with a dismissive hand gesture.

He took a seat in the den of the house.

"Maybe you're the fool," Marigold said as she sat beside him.

"Better to be foolish than greedy," Paul stated.

"What about both?" Marigold questioned.

"I've never known a fool to be greedy," Paul responded, "Fools can only be ambitious."

"And where might ambition lead this fool?" Marigold asked, gently placing a finger on Paul's chest.

"This fool believes that fate has dealt him a cruel hand," Paul began, "He's likely to strike back at those who have cheated him, but all he really wants in the company of a woman."

"Will the fool ever win the company of this woman?" Marigold asked.

"He certainly hopes so, but he cannot force her," Paul responded.

"Tell the fool that she has made her decision," Marigold whispered to Paul, he could feel her breath upon his ear.

They kissed. Marigold's lips effervesced on Paul's. He held Marigold close as she bore down upon him. She tore feverishly at Paul's clothing. When she had finally worked off his shirt she began on her own. Paul awed at her bronze skin; he lay paralyzed while she unbuckled his belt. In the confines of a couch they encapsulated themselves in a world of pleasure. Their sensual embrace continued until a fiery climax. Screams and shouts left a wake of silence as Marigold collapsed upon Paul. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the softness of her bosom against his chest.

When Paul awoke Marigold was nowhere to be seen; he assumed that she had left on some errand. Paul looked out the window to see the time of day. Much to his surprise it was already past sunset. Paul hoped that Lorenzo had not abandoned the plan. Paul got dressed and rushed out the door without a second thought. Darkness surrounded him as he walked the streets of Avelucia. He couldn't help but look in every direction, keeping watch on the darkness encroaching on him. He trudged the familiar route to the marketplace. There no stalls were open; the only inhabitants were shadows. Paul doubted that Lorenzo was here, and he was impatient. His persistence had already woe him one prize; he was not willing to wait for this opportunity either. The riches would be his, and more importantly, the guild would pay for its negligence. Paul placed his hand upon his bandaged face and his anger blossomed into fury. He knew where the guild hall was, as it was the most prominent building in the city. Even in the dark it was rather easy to spot. Paul had no idea where the vault was, but if the guild was as complacent as Lorenzo said, then it would be easy to find.

Paul climbed the steps of the guild hall. The massive building loomed above him, casting an oppressive shadow down upon the town. Paul creaked open the massive doors of the building, which squealed on their hinges. Were these people too lazy to even keep their hall in good repair? Either way, Paul hoped that the noise had not disturbed any of the hall's residents. No light danced across the floor, all was dark as the night outside. Under the cloak of shadow Paul crept deeper into the hall. Tables and benches were lined in rows, but they seemed as if they had not seen the grace of a hunter's presence in years. Paul spotted a counter in the distance. He worked his way towards it, hoping that there was zenny to be found on the other side. Multiple doors lined the wall across from the counter. Light shone from underneath one of the doors; there were people here after all. Paul climbed over the counter as quietly as he could. He tried the door closest to him, it was locked. He skipped over the lighted door and tried the one next to it instead. The door pushed cleanly open, revealing mountains of coffers; of course they kept the door to their vault well-oiled. Just now did Paul realize that he had neither the knowledge nor the tools required to pick any of these locks. He clung to the slim chance that one of the chests might not be locked. He tried one, it was locked. Then he tried another, also locked. Again and again he pulled at locked chests until finally one gave way. The small chest that Paul had opened was far from lined with zenny, but it did contain a pretty penny. Paul gathered the zenny into his coin purse quietly. He had half-emptied the chest before he was finished. He closed it gently and turned to take his leave, but panic stopped his feet cold. The door which Paul had entered stood open, he had forgotten to close it. Paul heard a creak as light poured into the hall, surely someone would notice the open door! Paul rushed to the corner and placed his ear to the wall. He heard voices, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Paul had no choice. He bolted out the door and sprang over the counter. All was a blur as he sped to the main doors, bashing against them with all his might. As the doors gave way Paul heard shouting, but he dared not look back. He dashed for Marigold's house, running as if the flames of hell were licking at his heels.

When Paul reached his destination he looked around frantically, making sure no one had followed him. He banged on Marigold's door, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat until the door finally opened. He barged inside, bumping against Marigold, who slammed the door shut behind him.

"There's no need to bump into me," she complained.

Paul's lack of breath prevented him from responding.

"Out of breath?" Marigold questioned, "I take it you've been running from something?"

"Quite the contrary," Paul responded through gasps, "Something's been chasing me."

"As if that makes a difference," Marigold rebuked.

"It makes all the difference," Paul stated, "Figuring out who chases who is the only way to know who's at fault."

"So you mean to say that some villain was chasing you down the streets?" Marigold asked with disbelief.

"Actually, I was the villain getting chased down the streets," Paul corrected her.

"And here I thought you were out to make an honest living," Marigold said, disappointed.

"This money may be stolen," Paul said, holding out his swollen coin purse, "but I am hardly a criminal."

"Oh, don't worry yourself. Theft isn't a crime at all," Marigold said sarcastically.

"This zenny was once the guild's," Paul stated, "but one cannot steal from a pack of thieves."

Marigold's eyes widened with shock.

"You stole from the guild?" she asked, mortified, "The whole city will be on the lookout for you!'

"Why should they," Paul asked sardonically, "I took but a fraction of their wealth. They still possess a fortune while I have but a fragment."

"It's too late for this kind of talk, let's go to bed," Marigold stated with a sigh as she walked the bedroom.

"When you say 'let's' I assume that you no longer have objections to us sleeping together?" Paul asked.

"What kind of man makes love to a woman and then hesitates to share a bed with her?" Marigold asked rhetorically.

"Oh, there's plenty of men like that!" Paul said jokingly.

He followed Marigold into bed, yet he did not fall asleep. Adrenaline from his successful heist kept him wide awake. Twice now his impatience had prevailed him; in one day no less! Indeed Avelucia was a haven for the ambitious, but Paul couldn't help but worry about the future. He was a wanted man now, and that endangered Marigold.

"Paul," Marigold whispered, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Yes?" he responded.

"Do you think my father will return safely?" she asked him, to Paul it sounded like she was crying.

"I can't say whether he will or won't," Paul said softly, "But even if it costs him his life he won't let the shortcomings of others drag him down."

Marigold said nothing, instead she hugged Paul closely. He could tell that he was her only distraction from her worries. Still, it startled him how fast she had fallen for him, and how fast he had fallen for her. They drifted to sleep in eachother's arms.

Paul awoke to Marigold shaking him violently.

"Wake up, Paul!" she shouted, her face was a blur to Paul's drowsy eyes.

"What's wrong?" Paul asked with the groggy tone that possesses all bound for sleep.

"My father's back," Marigold stated, "Only it's too early. He should have been gone much longer."

The worry in Marigold's voice was near palpable.

"I'm going to meet him, can you watch the house for me?" she asked.

"Sure, I'll look over the house," Paul stated, "I need to lay low anyways."

Without delay Marigold was out the door, and Paul was left alone. Somehow his solitude made him self conscious. He wondered what Marigold's father would think about his daughter falling in love with a criminal. Surely he couldn't hold Paul's crime against him. By stealing from the guild Paul was only enacting his revenge for their crimes. Paul placed his hand over his wound; it had been about a week since that fateful day. It was finally time for him to show his face again. As Paul removed the bandages, it felt as though he was removing the skin from his face. The shock of the incident returned to him; again he saw the bright red talon tearing though his flesh. Paul felt paralyzed, all he could do was gaze straight into space as the bandages fell to the floor. He touched his scar with a quivering hand. The flesh was smooth and soft, it did not feel like the skin of a human. A shiver ran down Paul's spine as he traced the length of the scar. It ran from is brow to his lip, but what disturbed Paul the most was the eye, _his _eye. He had grown accustomed to the blindness, but he now felt a bulbous mass where there had once been a portal to the outside world. Paul longed for the coverage of his bandages again. The trauma tired him. Exhausted, he slumped into the couch. There he lay, covering the object of his torment in hopes that the world would never see such a wretched sight.

Through his stupor Paul heard the door creak open. He caught glimpse of Marigold. In her tow was a hobbled form. Paul sat-up to get a better look; he now saw that the hobbled figure was Marigold's father. His bandaged knee rounded off where his calf should begin, a crutch was all that supported him. As they approached Paul stood. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could utter a single word Marigold interrupted him with a wail of horror. Her features turned pale as she fell to the ground. Paul rushed to her side.

"That scar of yours must have made her faint," Marigold's father spoke, "It's been a rough day, you can hardly blame her."

Paul placed his hand on his face, almost as if he were trying to wipe the scar away.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, boy," Marigold's father said with honeyed words, "You didn't get that scar through any fault of your own."

With much difficulty, Paul slowly lowered his hand to his side.

"She must have already told you about my staying here, huh?" Paul asked.

"She told me much more than that, son," Marigold's father said knowingly.

Paul gasped.

"I would have asked your permission if you had been here, I swear!" Paul pleaded.

Marigold's father gave Paul a quizzical look.

"Marigold told me about the little heist you pulled," he said harshly, "but your tone makes me think that you've shared a bed with her, is that true?"

Silence blanketed the room; Paul could think of no appropriate way to answer his question.

"On second thought, don't answer that," Marigold's father quickly added.

Paul hung his head in shame. It seemed as though this man did not approve of him.

"You may be scarred, but you're able-bodied. Take my daughter to her bed," Marigold's father commanded.

Paul saw no reason to object; he lifted Marigold and carried her to her room. He gently placed her in her bed and made his way back into the den, where Marigold's father now sat. Paul took a seat beside him.

"I can tell by the way you carry her that you love her," Marigold's father stated.

The statement startled Paul. This man who had just recently been crippled was still concerned about performing his duty as a father.

"I-I would say that I do, sir," Paul responded feebly.

"I have a question for you then," Marigold's father said somberly, "Why did you steal from the hunter's guild?"

The question made Paul think. He never had aspirations of thievery. Surely he would not have been so willing to steal if it had not been from the guild.

"I stole from the guild for revenge," Paul responded, "but it wasn't originally my idea."

"You simply took the opportunity for revenge when it presented itself," Marigold's father questioned.

"Of course, any right-minded person would," Paul stated.

"But have you ever thought that it might not be so simple?" Marigold's father asked.

"How so?" Paul responded.

"Revenge is achieved by causing harm to those who have wronged you." Marigold's father stated.

"That's how most people would define revenge," Paul seconded.

"But what purpose does revenge serve other than to bring about more revenge," Marigold's father asked.

Paul could not supply an answer.

"Were you and I to trade blows we would just keep doing so until on of us was given a reason not to," Marigold's father stated.

"It's not that simple," Paul rebuked.

"Isn't it?" Marigold's father questioned, "By stealing from the guild have you given them any more reason to do their job properly?"

"No, I haven't," Paul admitted, "but nothing I could do could fix their wretched ways."

"That may be true," Marigold's father stated, "but that doesn't give you any justification in enacting your revenge. I only ask that you take that into consideration."

Paul pondered for a while. Though this man was now crippled, his judgment was not clouded by the trauma. Paul felt weak in contrast to him.

"What exactly happened to you?" Paul couldn't help but ask.

Marigold's father gulped before he began.

"I was leading the caravan to one of the stops along the route," Marigold's father stared blankly into space as he spoke, "I was set upon by an Aoashira; I guess the smell of the honey I was delivering attracted it. It knocked the caravan over and I was trapped underneath. My Aptonoth ran as the beast rummaged through the caravan to retrieve the honey. It smashed the crates, licking the sweet substance from its claws. When it had finished with the caravan the Pelagus turned its attention to me. I feigned death, but that did not lessen the Aoashira's interest . . ." Marigold's father paused, beads of sweat formed on his brow as he recalled the gruesome details, "The beast tore at my leg as though it were a toy. The pain was excruciating, so I jammed a wad of my clothing down my throat to stop myself from screaming. After some time I could no longer feel any of my leg below my knee, and I vomited fervently because of the cloth jamming my throat. After what seemed like ages I heard the beast's footsteps through my hysteria. I removed the cloth from my mouth and gasped for air. My consciousness soon faded, however. Eventually I was discovered by another caravan that was traveling that route. They tended to my wounds, but my leg had to be amputated. After a short time of recovery I made my way back home. Though I should have stayed in bed much longer, I simply could not stand to let my daughter worry, so I hitch-hiked my way back to Avelucia with other merchants."

Paul was astounded at this man's endurance. He felt a sort of kinship with Marigold's father through their shared injustice.

"Those bastards at the guild should be executed!" Paul exclaimed.

Marigold's father laid his hand upon Paul's shoulder.

"Remember what I've told you," He said to Paul, "Revenge is not always the answer. You have within you the potential to be what the layabouts at the guild could never be."

Paul found no words to say, he simply nodded.

"Don't mind me now," Marigold's father said as he clumsily stood, "I'm going to go to bed, telling such a long story has left me tired."

The man did not ask for help as he struggled to climb the stairs. Paul thought it best not to bother him; this was his ordeal to overcome.

After some time, Paul grew tired of sitting by his lonesome. He resolved to wake Marigold; maybe now she wouldn't respond so harshly to his scar. He shook her, in hopes of a response. She awoke in full-swing, eyes wide with horror. As she turned to Paul she let loose a scream. Marigold veiled her vision with her fingers as she looked at him. Paul could no longer be ashamed of his deformity; her father had shown him that.

"Please, it isn't so bad," Paul pleaded.

"No . . . I can't," Marigold said feebly, "The scar . . ."

"Yes, I am scarred!" Paul shouted, "What would you have me do about it?"

An awkward silence overtook the room. The only sound was that of Marigold whimpering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," Paul apologized.

He offered his hand to help Marigold out of bed. She took his hand, but turned her head to avoid looking at him.

"Can't you look at me," Paul pleaded, "I've naught but a scar."

"No," Marigold retorted, "I cannot look at your face, it reminds me too much of father."

Paul had once been Marigold's only distraction from worry for her father, but now he had become a sick reminder of her tragedy. He could not bear the thought.

"Come now," Paul said, his voice elevating, "Surely you can overcome your fears so that we can speak properly?"

Marigold winced at Paul, but she quickly turned away.

"Look at me!" Paul shouted as he turned Marigold's head to his.

Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to look away, but Paul held her head in place. She closed her eyes tightly as she was overtaken by sobs.

"I want to look at you!" she sobbed, "but I simply can't!"

"The only type of woman a man can love without looking him in the eye is a whore!" Paul shouted, "Is that what you've become?"

Marigold fell to her knees, sobbing in her hands.

Fury overcame Paul; he stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Paul regretted the things he had said, but he would not go back. He had lost the woman he loved because the hunter's of Avelucia didn't keep the roads safe, and Marigold's father had lost a leg for the same reason. However, he could not let the incompetence of others drag him down; the only way he could prevent tragedies like this was by becoming a hunter himself. Paul had learned a valuable lesson from Marigold's father, and this was his resolution, but he could not change Avelucia, not as a wanted man. He would have to travel far, but he had the zenny to do so. Paul's only regret was that he would never see Marigold again, but he swore that he would keep her within his heart. Though their time together had been brief, Marigold left an impression on Paul that would last a lifetime.

Paul had finally concluded his story; without the drone of his voice, the room felt empty. After many moments, the long silence was broken.

"I never understood how you felt," Marigold said, standing before Paul, yet not looking him in the eye, "I'm sorry to have caused you so much pain."

Paul said nothing, but he gently turned Marigold's head toward him. She did not wince, instead a smile formed on her lips.

"It's true what they say, time makes all things seem nicer," Marigold said as she gently stroked Paul's scar.

Marigold spoke, her voice was as gentle as morning dew upon a leaf, "As I look upon my past, what I once foolishly saw as ugly I now see as a mark of integrity, and the reflection of the indomitable spirit of a true man. And though your scar still reminds me of my father, I am now reminded of his virtues that I now see in you."

Marigold embraced Paul; a single tear flowed down his cheek.

_Chapter end_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Reinstatement

_Having a license is good, getting to use one is better._

Blake was shocked by the story of his master's past; he never thought of Paul as much of a romantic. Blake wondered if he could ever have such a meaningful relationship. In truth, he was actually jealous. When Paul and Marigold finally broke from their embrace Blake caught sight of a window from which darkness crept in; Paul had indeed taken a while to recount his tale.

"Shall we away to bed," Marigold asked Paul; her tone did not seem sexual, to Blake she sounded more like a spouse.

"I think we should," Paul stated, directing his gaze to Blake, "Find yourself a bed to sleep in."

Blake watched Marigold and Paul walk up the stairs. Seeing the two of them together invoked thoughts in Blake's mind that startled him.

_I guess time gives even the most troubled lovers the hindsight to reflect on eachother's mistakes and find mutual forgiveness_, he thought.

Now Blake turned his gaze to Angel, who lay on the couch still. The bandages over her head morphed her hair into a cute shape. Blake slapped himself, why must he always find himself examining this woman while she was unaware? Filled with an urge to experience the romantic joy that Paul and Marigold shared, Blake felt the need to show his affection to Angel. He desperately wanted to care for her, but there was little he could do. Blake decided that he couldn't let Angel wake from unconsciousness without anyone around to explain where she was, so he would sleep on the floor of the den. Troubled by feeling that were out of his control, Blake tossed and turned through an uncomfortable sleep.

Blake heard Angel call his name; her voice was barely a whisper, yet it still roused Blake from his slumber.

"I see you've come back to us," Blake said as he rubbed his eyes.

"Where are we?" Angel asked Blake.

"We're at a friend of Paul's house," Blake responded.

"A friend of Paul's?" Angel said quizzically, to Blake it sounded as though she was still drowsy.

"It's a long story," Blake said dismissively.

The room fell silent. Blake looked into Angel's eyes; her worry burrowed its way into Blake's soul.

"Is something troubling you?" Blake asked gently, "Back in that alley way, that man didn't . . ." his voice trailed off.

"No," Angel said bluntly.

"What is it then?" Blake asked; he genuinely wanted to know what had happened to her.

Minutes passed before Angel finally spoke. The morning light from the window cast an eerie glow on her face.

"There was a robed man," Angel began, her words becoming constantly more deliberate, "He was the one who killed that criminal."

She paused for a moment.

"During my last moments of consciousness I couldn't take my eyes off the blood that dripped from the robed man's hand. His clawed hand!" Angel screamed.

Blake was taken aback. They had traveled this far, yet it seemed as though there was no escape from those fanatics. No, there was no way the assassins had followed them; if so, they would have simply killed Angel in that alleyway. The only explanation was that the Servants of Fate had already been here. Here in this town where the guild had little influence. What puzzled Blake the most, however, was not that Servants of Fate were already here, but that they made it their business to murder criminals. What on Earth did they hope to achieve?

Paul awoke as if from a nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his brow, wandering what may have brought him such troubled sleep. He took a look out the window, it was nearing midday. Paul cursed himself for sleeping in too late. He left Marigold to herself and headed downstairs. Paul was greeted by the sight of Blake and Angel chatting on the floor. To Him they looked much like gossiping teenagers.

"What's got you two chatting like this?" he asked.

Blake answered, "A lot has been going on lately, we were trying to lighten the mood with some pleasant conversation for once."

"Well then, since you've got time to talk I guess it's time to get you two hunting," Paul sated.

Confusion washed over both Blake and Angel's faces.

"I thought the whole point of coming here was to get away from the guild," Angel said.

"Let me correct you there," Paul responded, "We left Santonia because there was a pile of corpses just waiting to have a culprit pinned to them, not to mention the insane cult of murderers looking to put our heads on a pike."

Blake felt faint; the memories of his recent past resurfaced easily in his mind, and they haunted him still. In truth, they had not escaped the Servants of Fate, but Blake simply couldn't muster the courage to tell Paul.

"That's just the thing . . ." Angel whispered, "That insane cult of murderers is here too."

Paul grew tense.

"How are you sure?" Paul asked sternly.

"Do you remember the thug that attacked Angel?" Blake asked Paul, "Well it turns out that he was killed by a man who used claws for a weapon."

"Yet he didn't harm Angel," Paul stated, "I doesn't seem that these assassins can identify you, so I don't see any immediate danger."

_No danger_, Blake thought, yet he knew it was not true.

"You have a point," said Angel.

"I guess," Blake agreed reluctantly.

"Well then, we should head to the guild hall immediately," Paul began, "Our first step is getting a transfer."

Paul made a grandiose gesture towards the door as Blake and Angel exited.

Blake never expected to hunt again. The commotion at Santonia had made him feel as though everything was over, and he still had nightmares about his sister. Nevertheless, here he was, following the group to the guild hall so he could hunt once again. Now as before, the troubles of the world faded away beneath the call of the hunt. Blake looked to Angel, a dim hope graced her visage.

Angel looked upon Avelucia's guild hall. Though it was the centerpiece of the city's plaza it still managed to be unimpressive. The hall seemed like it was a monument to memories that society had long forsaken. Still, Angel was eager to hunt again; she was a simple woman, and life or death was a simple ultimatum. As they traveled up the stairs, Angel was disturbed by the silence of the hall. It seemed as though the entire city was watching them as they opened the creaking doors of the guild hall.

Paul noted that the years had not been good to Avelucia's guild hall; it was in even worse condition then when he was young. Obviously, few hunters serviced this city now, not that there had ever been many. A singular clerk gave a disinterested wave at Paul and crew's entrance.

"Hello mam'," Paul said as he approached the dusty counter.

"You're obviously not from around here," the clerk said cynically, "What could you possibly want?"

"We're looking for transfers," Paul said as he laid his guild card in front of the clerk; he motioned to Blake and Angel to do the same.

"A transfer? Here?" The clerk asked quizzically, "Surely wherever you're from suited your needs better?"

"Not at all, mam', hunting in Avelucia has always been my protege's dream," Paul said as he patted Blake on the shoulder.

Blake and the clerk joined in a moment of shared confusion.

"Alright," the clerk said with a sigh.

She collected the guild cards, giving them a brief look-over. When she reached Paul's card she gave a double-take.

"What on Earth brings such a high-ranking hunter to a place like this?" the clerk asked, "Shouldn't you be on some Elder Dragon hunt?"

"No miss, I've retired from that kind of thing," Paul responded, "Right now I'm just concerned about training my successors."

"Since when were you my mentor?" Angel shouted, "I've yet to learn a thing from you."

"Of course you've learned from me. I use a lot of big words to help improve your vocabulary," Paul stated.

"That's preposterous!" Angel rebuked.

"See," Paul said with a shrug, "Vocabulary."

"If you guys are done bickering, I've completed your transfers," The clerk said, brandishing a handful of new guild cards.

Paul could tell by the look of the card that this woman had not gone through the proper channels, but that was the reason Paul chose Avelucia as his destination. Were the clerk to inform Santonia's guild hall of the transfer request, the guild would probably revoke their licensees if not label them as criminals.

"Got any hunts suitable for these two?" Paul asked the clerk.

"Go check the board over there, that's what it's for," she said with a dismissive wave.

With a sigh, Paul scoured over the board, looking for a suitable hunt. Apparently, the board had been left to itself for some time now, as the newer requests were simply posted on top of the old ones, making a collage of hunting contracts. Paul yanked one of the contracts off the board; it bore a crudely drawn picture of a Qurupeco. He read the contract carefully before placing it on the clerk's counter.

"We'll take this one," Paul said as he withdrew the contract fee from his coin-purse.

"How many hunters will be participating?" the clerk asked with a look that tried to convince Paul that she was interested.

"These two." Paul responded, pointing in Blake and Angel's direction.

"Okay, I'm sure you know the drill from here," the clerk said, urging the unwanted visitors away.

Almost as soon as they walked out the door to the guild hall, Paul whisked the hunters away to prepare for the hunt. He bought potions, weapons, armor, and various other materials that they might use; Blake marveled at how much money his mentor carried on him. It wasn't long before Blake and Angel were properly outfitted, and the group set off for the forest outside Avelucia. Though his store-bought armor felt mismatched and didn't quite fit properly, Blake was comforted by the weight of his equipment. He was accustomed to heavy armor, and chain was no different. Angel, on the other hand, had settled for the mobility that leather armor offered.

"Armor that thin wouldn't protect you from a felyne bite," Blake jested.

"Who needs heavy armor when you've skill with a shield?" Angel responded.

"We don't have all day you two, and talking isn't making you walk any faster," Paul stated, bringing silence about the group.

The only sound that Blake heard was the rhythmic clank of his boots. He grew tenser and tenser still with every step, but now he was reminded of why hunting was his calling. Blake yearned for action, to wield his greatsword in mortal combat against a massive beast. Still, he wondered if Paul intended to oversee their hunt; he didn't object to the thought. Blake had never even heard of a Qurupeco, let alone slain one, and he didn't even know what the creature looked like.

As they walked, Angel sifted through the items in her pouch, many of them would come of use for this hunt. Paul had provided plentiful potions, as well as flash bombs. Angel felt that this hunt should be a cinch, surely Paul wouldn't pit them against a beast that would prove too challenging. Angel could tell that they were nearing their destination, as the terrain became increasingly rugged. Where the road stopped so did Paul.

He turned to Angel and Blake to deliver a speech, "This is your moment, hunters. From this point onward you will be caught in a mortal struggle against your prey, though I believe that recent events have acquainted you with such danger. Nevertheless, this will be an extremely dangerous hunt, as all hunts are. Should you succeed, this day will be yours to commemorate, but should you fail . . ."

Paul paused. Blake almost wanted to object to the notion of failure, but he knew it was a possibility.

"Should you fail, then we will only meet again in the place that all humans are destined to go," Paul said solemnly.

He looked to Blake, then Angel.

"Your lives are in one-another's hands, and shortly you will find that there is no better place for them to be!" Paul concluded, ending his speech with a flourish.

Paul sent the hunters on their way down the path. All he could do know was have faith in their abilities.

Angel could feel the rush of the hunt even as they reached the base camp. She urged Blake to hurry his preparations. She could never understand why so many hunters were drawn to those giant slabs that they called greatswords when they took so long to sharpen.

"Why bother with that thing?" Angel complained, "I'm sure the blunt force alone could kill."

Blake looked up at Angel while still sharpening his sword.

"Tell me which is better, a clean decapitation, or a mutilated carcass?" He rebuked.

Angel could not object, but that did not lessen her impatience. Angel had never felt such adrenaline, perhaps it was because she was thrilled to be the hunter rather than the hunted once again.

Blake stood, admiring the edge on his blade before mounting it onto his back.

"Let's see," Blake said as he withdrew a map from the supply box, "the contract said that the beast frequents the lake to the East of here."

The map was covered in dust, a sign that this camp was not used often. It was divided into distinct areas that beasts were known to inhabit, and each was given a number.

"Seems we're headed to area five, if I'm reading this right," Blake said.

Angel had been searching through the supply box.

"This first-aid is no good, I don't think they've checked on this camp in ages," she stated.

"It's a good thing we've brought our own supplies then," Blake responded.

Under normal conditions, Blake would have been loathe to carry on with this hunt, but his master expected him to succeed. He gave Angel a look at the map before they headed off.

They stuck to the paths laid out by the map, for venturing elsewhere would surely get them lost. As they came upon a clearing in the forest, Angel caught glimpse of a pack of Bullfango. Not wanting to attract their attention, the hunters skirted the edge of the area. As they left the Bullfango behind, they reached an area dominated by a toppled tree; here flying insects were so dense that they clouded Angel's vision. She batted at the air in front of her, trying to drive the bugs away. There seemed to be an ethereal glow about the place. Angel would have liked to observe the scenery more, but the insects were not kind to intruders in their domain. They next area they came upon was the site of a babbling brook. The water was clear, and the flora was lush, but what attracted Angel's attention were the large tracks she observed by the water's edge. Now she was nearing her prey.

Blake had been following Angel's lead for some time now. Hunting was a business of patience, and there was no need to rush. When he saw the fresh tracks, however, Blake knew that the monster was near. Now there was no need for patience, only action was necessary. The beast had been here for water recently; they would likely find it if they simple trailed the brook. No communication was necessary, both Blake and Angel understood. Before much time following the tracks they came upon what could only be the Qurupeco. The wyvern was covered in feathers colored vivid shades of green and blue. It was not the largest beast Blake had seen, but he knew better that to judge a mark by its size. Blake threw all hope for a stealthy approach aside and charged at the beast. The quirky wvyern seemed defenseless as Blake neared, sword raised, but as he readied to strike Blake was swatted away by the Qurupeco's fan-like tail.

Angel saw as Blake was batted into the water. He had been a fool to assault his enemy without observing its tactics first. Nevertheless, his fearless charge enlivened Angel with a fiery zeal. She leapt at the beast's heart, aiming to fell it in one swoop. Though her jump landed short of its target, she still nicked the beast's stomach; the Qurupeco wailed as it leaped into the air. Angel was pressured by the gusts of wind the creature's wings let loose. From above, the Qurupeco lunged at Angel; she barely had time to evade the attack. She risked a glimpse at Blake, who was troubling to stand under the burden of his equipment. Angel swung wildly at the flying Qurupeco. None of her slashes connected, but the beast gave her some much needed leeway. Angel loosed a flash bomb at the wyvern; she barely had time to cover her eyes before it went off. When Angel's sight recovered she saw that the flash bomb had worked; the Qurupeco had plummeted to the ground. Now was the time to strike! Angel prepared to lunge at the thrashing wyvern, but Blake made his move first. A heavy swipe from his greatsword left a gash in the beast's thigh.

Blake wanted to finish the beast here, but its roar forced him to cover his ears. The roar the Qurupeco produced could not have been its own; Blake recognized it from somewhere. It wasn't until the Qurupeco had fled into the sky that Blake realized where he had heard that cry before. The strange roar echoed through the forest once more.

"It seems as though the cowardly creature has returned," Angel joked.

She looked to Blake, who's eyes were filled with terror.

"Run!" he shouted.

Angel followed Blake, though she didn't understand his worry. It wasn't until she saw the Rathian swooping towards them that she realized. The Qurupeco had mimicked the Rathian's roar to call her to this area; clearly the beast was more clever than Angel had thought. Angel sprinted with Blake, trying to reach a place where the Rathian could not follow. She juked to avoid a fireball that the Rathian sent barreling towards them. They bounded across the path to the next area, but the Rathian was fast approaching behind them. Angel looked to Blake, who acknowledged her with a simple nod. When the Rathian was only inches behind them, Angel and Blake dived to opposite sides of the path, narrowly avoiding death underneath the beast's talons. The Rathian continued her rampage, oblivious to the fact that she had not trampled the hunters.

Blake ran until his vision became blurry. Air entered his lungs like fire, and the pain forced him to the ground. Blake prepared for death as he lay helpless. Horrific thoughts of being burned, crushed, or trampled ran through his mind until he was convinced that they were reality. The caress of death was much like a cascade of cool water, yet Blake could still hear Angel's voice. He had died and left her alone in the wilderness.

"I'm sorry," Blake said aloud.

"Quit being sorry and get up already," Blake heard Angel's voice speaking, "Surely a simple sprint isn't enough to put you away?"

Blake opened his eyes. He was not at the foot of some pearly gates, instead he lay on the ground at Angel's feet, soaked from the water which she had tossed on him. He slowly troubled to stand.

"Urg," Blake groaned, the rumbling of his stomach echoing his voice, "those rations were just so unappetizing, and I haven't eaten all day."

Angel burst into laughter.

"How can a man with such a dangerous profession complain about food?' she asked.

"I'm too used to the packed lunches my sister used to make for me," Blake said, immediately falling silent.

"I'm sorry," said Angel, her compassion was genuine.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Blake stated, "It's best to remember the good things about those we've lost. Besides, we have a hunt to finish."

"Then how do you suppose we find the beast?" Angel questioned.

"Perhaps this map could provide some insight" Blake suggested, drawing the map from his pouch.

"We'd probably run across it in one of the caves," Angel stated, pointing out the ones that were listed on the map; they were denoted with a different color

"Could we possibly search all of these caves?" Blake qustioned, "It would take us hours."

"True," Angel responded, she took a thorough look at the map, "We were fighting with the beast in area five. With its wound it would probably seek the nearest shelter it could find."

"Searching the caves nearest to area five sounds like a fine idea to me," Blake affirmed, "But isn't that where the Rathian is?"

Angel slumped against a nearby rock.

"You're right, that accursed creature is too clever for its own good," Angel said with a sigh, "I guess we'll have to work our way to the caves while avoiding area five."

Angel's prospect was more challenging that it first seemed. To avoid area five the hunters had to trek dangerous terrain. Many times they had minor scraps with rouge beasts prowling the land. It was quite some time before they finally reached the first of the caves they intended to search. Like any proper wyvern nest, this cave had an opening to the sky, which was the only source of light. The heavenly beams centered in the center of the cavern. There, by the strangest luck, lay the slumbering Qurupeco.

This was Angel's chance to strike. She crept towards the beast, trailing low to the cavern floor. The chill of the dank cave stung Angel's bare legs, but she would not relent. She continued onward until she felt a slimy object rub against her. Discounting the feeling to some unknown grime, Angel did not stop, but the slimy object worked its way up her leg. Unable to help herself, Angel screamed as she batted the slimy object away. The Qurupeco stirred, rising from its sleep. The confines of this cave would not be a good locale to confront the beast, but Angel had no choice; she knew that Blake thought the same. Under the shroud of darkness Angel and Blake rushed at the beast. Sensing the imminent danger, the Qurupeco clapped its wings together. Sparks lit the cave for moments at a time as the hunters hastened their approach. Blake stopped in front of Angel, readying his sword to block whatever attack the wvyern might throw. The Qurupeco lunged forward, sending hot sparks flying at Blake's face as it clapped its wings together. Angel was prepared to assault the beast while it struggled with Blake's guard, but again she felt a slimy caress against her leg.

Blake stood in shock at the sight of the worm-like creature suckling on Angel's leg, but he could not ignore the Qurupeco. Enraged, the beast saw no way to its foes but straight through their guard, and Blake could take advantage of this. He put his weight against his sword, pushing the struggling wvyern back. When he had gained enough leeway Blake slashed at the beast; he had not hoped to hit it, only to drive it back. Now that he had distanced the beast, Blake rushed to Angel's aid; she struggled to force the worm off of her. Blake joined her in batting at the creature, but its gelatinous body suffered little from their blows. He looked to the Qurupeco; it was occupied singing an odd tune. Angel drew her sword and stabbed it into the worm. With a high-pitched scream the creature loosed itself from Angel. When the echoes of the wail faded from Blake's ears he realized that the Qurupeco was no longer singing. He looked into the beast's eyes, they were filled with a new-found vigor.

Angel felt the sting of anemic fatigue; now it seemed that she and the Qurupeco had switched places. The beast hurled up gobs of green liquid at the hunters, splattering them in the greasy substance. The Qurupeco's actions confused Angel, but she did not have time to think, as the Qurupeco now charged at them with intent to kill. Angel and Blake were toppled by the beast, which puffed out its chest in a haughty manner. Angel could not find the strength to stand, but she knew Blake did not have the mobility to strike the Qurupeco now. The beast was preparing to strike again, it clapped its wings together once more. With the power of sheer will, Angel forced herself into motion. She leaped at the beast, lunging through the sea of sparks the Qurupeco had created to slash at its chest. The injured beast turned tail and fled for the corner of the cave, yet the grease covering Angel's body had burst into flame. She fell to the ground, flailing and screaming as she tried to extinguish the fire.

Blake had watched as Angel landed a beautiful strike on the Qurupeco, but was frozen in place at the sight of her burning. He rushed to her side, but his mind could do nothing but panic as her screams haunted his ears. He could not watch another loved one die! Blake drove his sword into the dirt. With a resounding shout, he threw a mountain of dirt atop Angel. Blake rushed to dig the dirt off of Angel, yet all the while he could not take his eyes off the Qurupeco, which cowered in the corner. Blake checked to make sure Angel was breathing before he ran to finish the beast. Fire flowed through Blake's veins; no amount of darkness could hide his prey from his rage. He drew his sword high into the air before bringing it down upon the cowering creature. Blood sprayed against Blake's cheek; he winced, but he did not feel remorse.

_Some creatures deserve to die_, that was Blake's alibi, his shelter from the torments of morality.

He walked back to Angel, she was still half covered in dirt. Blake lifted her from the ground, placing her against the cave wall. He drew a potion from his pouch, carefully pouring it down Angel's mouth. He massaged her throat to help her swallow the medicine. Blake sat beside her; throes of adrenaline still wracked his body. As he closed his eye he heard Angel speak.

"Tired, are you?" her voice was gritty and faint.

Blake opened his mouth to respond, but Angel cut him off.

"Before you ask, of course I'm hurt," Angel commented, "but I'll live."

Blake gave a tired nod.

"You're not even sure that's what I was going to say," he stated.

"Come on, we both knew that," Angel said, with a troubled laugh.

Blake searched for words to say, but for now he felt that his actions said enough. The two lied, side by side and exhausted.

When he felt adequately calmed, Blake walked to the Qurupeco's corpse. He collected from its carcass whatever he felt might have been of use. Having collected the spoils of the hunt, Blake went to help Angel stand. To Blake's surprise, Angel stood at the entrance to the cave, urging him to hurry up. As they traveled back to camp the two spoke no words, but each knew that this had been the true start of their careers as hunters. What mattered most to them, however, was that they would hunt together, for as Paul said: Their lives were in one another's hands, and now they knew that there was truly no better place for them to be.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Inspiration

_Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery_

Paul was brimming with pride for his disciples. Though they had been battered and wounded in the process, they had succeeded at hunting an unknown monster in an area that they had never explored before. They probably didn't understand the significance of their achievement, but it was a glimpse at their true potential. Paul held hope in his heart that these young hunters could invigorate Avelucia's Hunter's Guild. What gladdened Paul the most, however, was to see that there will still those who hunted for a greater purpose. It seemed to Paul that Blake and Angel were not risking their lives for money, they were doing it because it simply needed to be done. Paul opened the still creaking doors of the guild hall for the triumphant warriors.

Angel walked through the hall doors feeling like a soldier who had been far from home for much too long. Though said home may have been a pitiful excuse for the majesty of other guild halls, here Angel and Blake were the guardians of a needy people. At least that was the way Angel imagined it; no matter how charred and ragged she may have appeared she was victorious. As she approached the clerk's counter she brandished a vibrant feather, courtesy of the slain Qurupeco.

"We'll take our reward, please," Angel said as she laid the feather on the counter.

The clerk gave a sigh that was all too long.

"I'll be back with your pay in just a moment," she said as she left to a room behind the counter.

"This really is a beautiful feather," Angel said to Blake.

She was mesmerized by the myriad of colors within the plume.

"What do you think the smith can make with it?" she asked.

"I can't say," Blake answered, "We'd have to check and see, but whatever he can make from it I'm sure I don't want to wear. That's way to colorful for me."

"Oh I'm a sucker for pretty colors," Angel admitted, "That's why I had my Velociprey armor made out of the bluest scales I could find."

Angel missed her old armor, she had put so much effort into it.

"It's a shame we couldn't bring the whole corpse with us then, you could have looked like a gaudy flower," Blake joked.

Angel was going to respond, but an annoyed clerk caught her attention. The clerk held a total of 2000z to be divided between the two hunters.

Angel awed at the money she held in her hands.

"I really want to see the smith now!" she shouted

"I think it's best you take a rest," Blake stated, "You're wounds are much worse than mine, so I'll see the blacksmith on your behalf."

Angel knew Blake's words were true, though she was eager to see what the smith could do.

"I guess I'll go back to Marigold's with Paul, but make sure that you get that blacksmith to make something colorful," Angel said to Blake as she left.

By his lonesome, Blake searched for the nearest smithy. He set his sights on a small stand right outside the guild hall. Avelucia's blacksmith betrayed Blake's conventional view of what smiths should be. This man was no short wvyerian, rather he was a slightly rugged man who ran out of a stall surrounding his unimpressive forge. The only merchandise for display was row after row of daggers.

_So obvious_, Blake thought,_ that the blacksmith of this filth-ridden city would specialize in concealed blades._

"Forty Zenny for one of the one's of the shelf, or speak with me about getting something made," the smith said, without looking away from his current task.

Obviously this man's usual clientele consisted of wretches looking for a quick tool to spill someone's guts, yet Blake watched as the smith meticulously set gems into the hilt of a would-be dagger. Deranged as his customers were, this smith still had a penchant for creating beautiful work.

"I've got some materials, and I was wondering what you could make with them," Blake said to the man.

"Looking for a sharper shiv, huh?" the smith responded.

"Actually, I wanted to know if you could make something decorative," Blake explained.

Obviously, the prospect of crafting something other than the usual dagger caught the man's attention, as he turned his gaze from his task at hand.

"That's refreshing," the smith said with a smirk, "I'm actually quite good at decorative crafts, but there's little room for extravagance on a simple dirk."

"I can imagine," Blake commented.

"Well what kind of materials do you have for me?" the smith asked.

Blake passed a bag filled with all of parts he had carved from the Qurupeco to the expectant smith. Sifting through the various scales, feathers, and bones, the smith withdrew the materials that he believed would be useful. In particular, he was astounded by the vibrant tail feather that had also charmed Angel.

"I could make a beautiful headdress with this," the smith said, staring at the feather from various angles.

After he finished looking over the rest of the parts the smith spoke again.

"I mean no offense, but the beauty of these materials would be wasted on a man," he stated.

"That's the thing," Blake responded, "This equipment would be for a woman. I'm just ordering it on her behalf."

"If that's the case, then I could make a headdress that would dazzle any passerby," the smith stated, "It also look like one of these bones would be suitable for an ax, but I'm not doing any work without some Zenny upfront."

"Fine then, how much would that be?" Blake asked.

"700, no less," the smith demanded.

"I expect this stuff to be pretty," Blake said as he reluctantly handed the man the money.

"Thank you for your custom!" the smith shouted as Blake left, "Natural materials are easy to work with, so I should have the equipment done on the morrow."

Blake couldn't wait to see what that man could come up with, but it would take time. For now, Blake made his way back to Marigold's house. He tried to drown out the happenings around him as he always did when walking the streets of Avelucia, but a child in the street caught his attention. The child was obviously touched by the plight of poverty, as rag were all that covered its malnourished frame. It wasn't until he had gotten closer that Blake could tell that the child was a girl. Through her matted tresses, the girl spoke to Blake.

"A Zenny, sir?" the child asked, holding her hand feebly outward.

Blake could not let such a child suffer.

"Here's forty Zenny, go buy yourself some food and clothes," Blake said as he gently placed the coin in the child's hand.

Joy lit across the girl's face like fireworks in the night sky. The sight made Blake smile as the child scurried away. He walked the rest of the distance to Marigold's house with a pep in his step. Blake knew that there were many suffering children in Avelucia, but today there would be one less.

When Blake arrived at his destination, he was greeted at the door by Angel. She wore a loose gown; Marigold must have treated her wounds.

"You seem happy," Angel said as Blake walked into the house, "I take it the visit to the smith went well?"

Angel's question caught Blake off guard; he was too focused on reveling in his good deed to remember everything the smith had said.

"Umm . . ." Blake paused.

"Come on, what did he say?" Angel asked, clasping her hands together.

"I showed him the materials," Blake began, making hand gestures in an attempt to occupy time, "and . . ."

Blake snapped his fingers as he finally remembered the details of his previous conversation.

"He said that he could make an ax and a headdress with those materials!" Blake shouted unintentionally.

"Oh I can't wait to see them," Angel said, she was practically giddy.

Blake had never seen this side of Angel before. He had always thought of her as haughty and aloof, but now she had decided to show him her inner self. Blake appreciated the gesture whether it was intentional or not, yet he wondered if he had ever done the same with her. Had Blake ever shared with Angel his intimate thoughts; the fact that he had been deeply troubled ever since his sister's death. No, no was the answer.

_ Perhaps now is the time_, Blake thought.

He took a seat on the sofa.

"It feels good to be a hunter again," he said to Angel, "I've always felt like it was what I was born to do."

"Yeah, it is great," Angel said, taking a seat beside him, "Though I can't agree with you on the second part."

"Oh, what made you want to become a hunter?" Blake questioned.

"You might find this odd," Angel stated, "but I was inspired by one of the hunters in the town that I grew up in."

"I don't find that odd at all. It happens all the time," Blake responded.

"Maybe I should clarify," Angel began, "The odd part is _how_ this hunter inspired me."

Angel continued, "He didn't carry about some virtuous facade or anything like that. In fact, the man was downright horrid. In his free-time he enjoyed talking down to others and abusing his privileges. The only thing is . . ."

Angel paused.

"I wanted what he had!" she shouted, "His power and the infamy made me green with envy. I wanted that kind of life, so I became a hunter."

Blake was not as surprised as Angel may have believed he would be, yet he still let out a gasp at her confession.

"You don't seem much like a pompous arse to me," Blake said to her.

"Oh you're just trying to flatter me," Angel rebuked, "Why do you think I like bold colors so much? I've always wanted people to pay attention to me like they did him."

As Angel spoke her eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, as though her attention was fixated on some distant spectacle beyond Blake's vision.

"Maybe what's more important is not how many people notice you, but who notices you," Blake said comfortingly.

"You're right," Angel said, bearing a stunning smile, "I guess we don't have to wind up like what inspires us."

Angel gave Blake a peck on the cheek, he couldn't help but blush.

"Hah, look at you," Angel said through laughter, "blushing from nothing!"

"Don't tell me I was wrong about the pompous arse part?" Blake jested.

"Oh yeah, you were completely wrong," Angel resonded.

Alongside Angel, Blake laughed away his worries. This was a sensation he felt that he could easily get used to.

Paul sat, deep in thought. He had no idea the Servants of Fate were so widespread, and the fact that they were here in Avelucia brought into question what their motives really were. Paul had always believed that they were a cult dedicated to the protest of poaching, but the hall in Avelucia is so small that there's no way a poaching ring could exist here. It seemed that the Servants of Fate saw the very existence of the guild as an affront to mankind; if their goal truly was to dissolve the Hunter's Guild, then Avelucia could be at risk of becoming their first victory. Paul pondered how he could maintain his position here without attracting their attention.

Paul felt a hand lay upon his shoulder.

"What's bothering you?" Marigold asked him.

Paul ran his hand slowly down his face.

"I've caught myself over-thinking things again," he responded, "Have faith in me."

"I will," Marigold said, wrapping her arms around Paul.

Her familiar touch comforted Paul, but he knew he couldn't just sit here.

"I'll be back soon," Paul said, as he gently broke from Marigold's embrace, "I've got to keep an ear on the streets."

Marigold simply nodded in response.

Paul needed Marigold to believe in him; someone had to, because he couldn't do it himself.

As Angel talked with Blake, she caught a glimpse of Paul walking out the door; he seemed to be in a hurry.

"You know Angel," Blake said, drawing her back into the conversation, "We haven't done anything to celebrate our victory."

"You're right," Angel responded, "Perhaps some festivities are in order."

"What do you say we grab some gourmet food?" Blake suggested.

"I think that's a great idea!" Angel shouted; she hadn't eaten anything since the hunt.

"Well there's no need to wait," Blake said, taking a stand, "There's a Felyne restaurant on the route to the guild hall."

Blake motioned for Angel to follow as he walked into the streets. After a quiet trip, they had reached the restaurant. In the fading sunlight, candles flickered around the restaurant, casting a subtle orange glow on the already warmly colored building. The smell of wondrous and mysterious meals permeated the air; Angel had to close her eyes to properly enjoy the sensation. The sound of plates rattling in the distance seemed to mimic the rhythm of Angel's stomach growling. She heard a perturbed nyah at her feet, realizing that she had nearly trampled one of the waiters in her trance.

"Watch yourself," Blake said, " those little guys are scampering about everywhere."

She and Blake took a seat at an empty bench. The decoration around the building was quaint, but the atmosphere was such that one lost the desire to use their sight anyways.

"How may I serve you, Nyah?" a waiter asked them, its voice was like a soft purr.

"Serve us something . . ." Blake paused, looking for the appropriate word.

"Enormous!" Angel shouted, completing Blake's sentence.

The Felyne gave a delighted nyah as it scampered away.

Angel waited many moments for her meal to come. The sight of others receiving their food and the delicious smell made her wish that the chefs would hurry. Just as the wait became unbearable Angel hear a resounding clang from what she assumed was the kitchen. Then came a quiet clatter which quickly became a thundering roar as Blake and Angel's order neared. Borne by three Felynes, the monumental dish was nearly the size of the entire table.

"Nyah!" echoed as the waiters heaved the platter into the air.

Angel shielded herself as the dish soared towards her. Amazingly, the platter landed cleanly in the center of the table. A single Felyne waiter hopped in the air to remove the lid from the serving tray. Time seemed to slow as the lid slowly lifted. Angel's eyes widened as more and more morsels came into sight. Angel was sent into another universe where the only sense she was aware of was taste. Useless things such as sight and smell became subtle undertones to glorious flavor. Angel wasn't aware how much she had been eating until she collided with Blake. As she snapped back to reality, Angel realized why Felyne chefs were so popular. Angel couldn't eat another bite, but she found the need to shout,

"Drink!"

It wasn't but a moment until a Felyne waiter brought two enormous flagons the sweetest smelling brew. Angel took no more than a swig before her vision began to blur. She couldn't resist the urge to sing a song. Angel stood upon the bench in which she sat.

"Kut-Ku, Kut-Ku, slay em' ev'ry day!" she sang, sloshing ale on to passerby as she swung her arms in tune with the imaginary beat.

"Rathian, Rathian, time to earn my pay!" Angel continued.

The ale numbed the sting from the gaze of strangers; in her drunken stupor, everyone was Angel's friend.

"Rathlos, Rathlos, time to run away!" Angel's song faded into unintelligible banter as she laid on her back.

She giggled, attempting to sing the melody again, but to no avail. Angel took a long drink from her nearly empty flagon. Under the pressure of alcohol's influence, reality collapsed.

Blake was astounded by the delicious food, but what had astounded him more was how quickly Angel had gotten drunk. Blake hadn't even begun drinking before Angel was a giggling mess.

_Damn_, Blake thought, _I wanted to be the drunk one!_

Now he would have to stay sober, as Avelucia was not a town where two drunks could safely wander their way home. Already, Blake felt the pressure of many prying eyes; even in this restaurant, how many strangers saw him as prey? Blake decided it was time to go. He tried to lift Angel from the floor, but she resisted as though she believed that she was comfy in her bed. When Blake had finally gotten Angel up he lead her out of the restaurant, onto the dark streets of Avelucia. As they walked, Blake couldn't help but search the shadows for signs of movement. The flickering of lights seemed like the dash of shadowy figures, and shadows seemed to shift in the unlit alleyways. Blake jumped as he caught glimpse of someone heading his way. He readied himself for a fight, but quickly let his guard down when he realized that he recognized the form. Walking towards him was the beggar girl Blake had encountered earlier.

"Hey there!" Blake shouted to the girl, though she didn't respond as she continued to walk towards him, "Did you get something nice with that zenny?"

To Blake's question the girl gave a simple nod as she neared ever closer.

_Does she want a hug? _Blake wondered.

Blake knelt to the girl's level, yet she said nothing. Blake saw a faint glint as she drew something from her tunic. He expected the girl to show him some trinket that she had bought, but instead she held within her hand a small dagger. Blake flinched as the girl swung her instrument of death. He felt the cold sting of steel as the dagger skimmed along his jaw. He clasped the wound for but a second until the girl stuck again. This time her target was Blake's side. The girl had not hit any vital organs, she was obviously not a trained warrior, but the pang of the dagger invading into his flesh made Blake shout.

"What the hell r' you doin'!" Angel yelled through her stupor.

She struck the girl, knocking her down to the cobbled street. Something in the recesses of Blake's mind objected to this situation; he desperately wanted to reject the reality that he was forced to defend himself against a child. Blake panicked, what if there were more assassins lying in wait? He grabbed Angel and darted down the street.

Paul wandered Avelucia, searching for pieces of the puzzle that had been confusing him for so long. Try as he might, Paul could not get a proper grasp of the Servants of Fate's objectives. He had hoped to find clues on the streets, but so far his search had borne no fruits. Paul refused to leave empty-handed; this was a mystery that he needed to solve, for the sake his disciples, if not for himself. Paul walked onward. He was not worried about the dangers of the night, for he had donned his majestic Akantor armor. Paul had hoped that keeping a high profile like this would catch the assassins' attention, but it seemed that he was wrong. Paul's foot caught something on the road. He turned to see that it was a human body that had nearly tripped him. Paul hoped that he had not stumbled upon the scene of a murder. He took a look at the victim, it was a beggar girl. Paul searched for a pulse on the girl; he gave a sigh when he discovered that she was alive. Paul wondered why there was an unconscious girl lying in the street, but this was something he couldn't bring himself to ignore. He would just have to wait until the girl woke up to question her.

Blake still rushed to safety, dragging Angel alongside him. He couldn't believe that a child was the only pawn on the assassins' chessboard. Perhaps they had meant to send a message, or maybe they had really meant to move in for the kill. The entire situation troubled Blake. As far as these assassins knew, Blake and Angel were just average hunters; this wasn't like in Santonia where they had been suspected of poaching. No, the Servants of Fate simply didn't care whether a hunter was a poacher of not, and that was what troubled Blake the most. He ran from the shadows that trailed at his heels, but Blake could never escape from what he truly feared.

Paul saw as the girl's eyes slowly opened. She rubbed her head before trying to rise to her feet. Paul held out his hand to help the girl stand. The girl did not take his hand, instead she let out a shrill cry.

"Are you the Devil?" she asked Paul, quivering with fear

Paul did not blame the girl for being scared of him, but he wondered why a girl so young would be awaiting the Devil after waking from unconsciousness. Paul decided to say nothing, he wanted to coax some answers from this mysterious girl.

"Please don't take me to Hell," the girl cried, "I only did what I was taught was right!"

Paul was intrigued, what could this girl have done that would justify a place in Hell? Paul retracted his hand and began to walk away, perhaps he could take advantage of his role as the Prince of Evil.

"I knew you would understand!" the girl shouted, "Those hunters need to be eradicated!"

Paul gave a quick turn back to the girl; he found the clue he had been searching for. The child crawled away as Paul approached, but he quickly overtook her and clasped his hand tightly around her wrist.

"What do you mean 'hunters need to be eradicated?'" Paul asked menacingly.

The girl's eyes lit up with fear. She shook her head back and forth, crying for the undertaker to leave her be. Paul realized that he could get no more information from this child if she still believed him to be the Devil.

"Listen," Paul said sternly, "I am not Death, nor am I the Devil. I am a hunter, and my name is Paul."

The girl still struggled to escape from Paul's grasp. He needed to calm her down.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Paul pleaded, "I just want to know why you hate hunters."

The girl stood still. She looked Paul dead in the eyes as she spoke.

"Why do I hate hunters?" the girl repeated Paul's question as though it was blasphemous.

"Yes," Paul responded, "that's all I want to know."

" How dare you ask me why I hate hunters!" the girl shouted, the hatred in her voice was not natural for someone her age, "Your kind stuff your bellies while I starve, and you can't even do your job right! You sit in the lap of luxury, feeding off of a business that brings ever closer to the wrath of Fate!"

Paul knew instantly after hearing the girl's reasoning that she was a member of the Servants of Fate. He shook his head; to think that children were now getting swept up into the storm of religious fanaticism.

"I'm sorry that you've been forced to grow up in such a troubled time," Paul said apologetically, "I want you to understand that any organization as big as the Hunter's Guild is bound to have flaws. There may be some among us who are guilty of wrongdoing, but those of us who do justice to our titles are not ashamed to bear arms with our brethren even if they don't represent our ideal. We do this because we know that each one of us represents something larger than ourselves, something that isn't perfect. A little stain in a cloth can make the highlights seem much brighter."

Paul matched the girl's gaze, her anger did not waive, but it seemed that she was much calmer.

"I want to know what happened here," Paul commanded, "Why were you unconscious in the street?"

The girl seemed troubled by the question, perhaps she understood that she had done something wrong after all.

"There was a hunter who had given me some zenny earlier today when I was begging," the girl's gaze lowered to the ground as she continued, "The elders say that any zenny I make should be donated to the cause, so I told them about it. They told me that I should buy a weapon for my initiation . . ."

the girl trailed off.

_Initiation_, Paul thought; he believed he knew where this was going. He only wondered who the hunter she spoke of might have been.

"I . . . I needed to kill a hunter in order to become an official warrior for the cause," the girl said, tears began to well in her eyes, "I noticed that the same hunter who had given me the zenny was unarmored as he was leaving that restaurant."

The girl pointed to a nearby building; it was closed now. Paul wondered how long this girl had been here unconscious, yet no one had even bothered to check on her.

"He was with a woman. She was drunk," the child continued, "He asked me if I had bought anything nice with the zenny he gave me, so I showed him the dagger I had bought."

Paul knew what the girl meant, but obviously she had not killed her target. He let the girl's wrist go; he had the information he needed. The girl started to scamper away.

"Wait," Paul said to her.

The girl stopped in her tracks.

"I want you to take a message to your 'elders'" he commanded, "Tell them that this guerrilla warfare is pointless. Trying to destroy and aspect of society that you don't agree with will never solve anything."

The girl didn't give a confirmatory gesture, but Paul believed that she got the point.

"Trust me, that's a lesson I learned a long time ago," Paul said to himself.

_Chapter end_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Warfare

_Battles cannot be fought on the backs of fleeing horses_

In Paul's absence, Avelucia had become the front of a war of subterfuge. It was a war which he had hoped to keep Angel and Blake away from, but he worried that he couldn't succeed without them. Paul was wracked with guilt, but he would not back down. He simply needed to rethink his situation; this was no battle of blades, only wit would attain victory. Since he needed more information before he could take the fight to his enemies Paul decided stick to his previous resolution. He create an environment in which the Servants of Fate could not survive. The only way to do that would be to rebuild the guild's reputation here in Avelucia; something a hunter as old as Paul simply couldn't accomplish. Blake and Angel, however, could still rise to fame here in this place where the young needed someone to look up to.

Angel awoke to tremors raking through her skull. The memories of a previous night washed around in her mind with no reason or rhyme. Everything seemed to dissolve after the most delicious meal, and the most delicious ale. Come to think of it, Angel wasn't even sure how she even wound up in Marigold's house. Had Blake brought her here while she was plastered beyond functionality; the thought embarrassed Angel. She rose from bed; her hunting gear was neatly arranged beside the bed.

_This must have been Blake's doing,_ she thought.

Angel donned her equipment before entering the foyer.

"Another day of hunting is it?" she asked Blake as she walked through the doorway.

Blake sat, his scarred body wrapped with fresh bandages.

"I'm not sure if it's safe anymore," Blake said, burrowing his head in his hands.

"Since when was hunting safe?" Angel jested; she didn't remember Blake having a wound on his side.

"I now we've been doing the right thing," Blake stated, "We should be inspiring future generations of hunters, but here I am with a stab wound I got from a little girl in a back alley."

"Is this something I'm not remembering?" Angel asked.

"That's right, you were drunk! You were drunk when I nearly got killed," Blake shouted.

Angel gave no response.

"I didn't mean that," Blake apologized.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Angel rebuked, "Can't you see that this is what they want!"

"If this is what they want, then they're getting it," Blake responded, "Can you honestly say that you can walk the streets of Avelucia without fear that you could be killed by any random passerby. They would send a child to kill you!"

Angel fell silent. The way Blake was acting angered her even though she knew that this wasn't his normal self; the depths of her understanding were not boundless. She struggled to think of a way to reaffirm his beliefs.

"I . . ." the words escaped Angel's mind.

"All I ever accomplished by fighting against the Servants of Fate was losing my sister," Blake said, "I can't let the same thing happen again."

Angel nearly blushed, Blake had a misguided way of showing his affection.

"Your sister wasn't killed because we fought against those fiends," Angel stated, "Her death was the reason that we resolved not to let them ruin our lives. Are you going to force me to fight this war alone?"

Blake lifted his head and looked directly into Angel's eyes.

"There you are wrong," Blake said, his words were serious, yet it seemed that hope had returned to his voice, "There is no war going on here. There have been no battles. Hell, we aren't soldiers. Its much simpler than that."

Angel waited to see where Blake's logic was going.

"This is only nature." he continued, "It's a kill or be killed world, and the Servants of Fate are just our natural enemy. Just as a pack of Jaggi struggles against a Rathalos for food, so to do we."

"Which does that make us?" Angel asked, "The Jaggi or the Rathalos?"

Blake laughed.

"We're probably closest to the food," he said, "but what does it matter? I don't know about you, but hunting is all I know. Maybe its all I ever wanted to know."

"Something tells me you would make a good carpenter," Angel jested.

Blake laughed heartily, Angel could tell that laughter was what he needed most right now.

"Maybe I would," Blake said, "I guess my real problem right now isn't my profession, but that I spend too much time thinking with my sword, and not with my heart."

"You do get caught up in the hunts," Angel responded, "but I can't say any differently."

"That's not the sword I meant," Blake said, an embarrassed smirk developed on his face.

Angel gave Blake a hard slap; there was no need for him to relay his feeling in such a vulgar way. Nevertheless, Angel found a smile developing on her face.

Paul headed downstairs to confront Blake and Angel; he found them laughing in the foyer.

"I hate to ruin the jolly mood, bet there are urgent matters to discuss," Paul stated.

"Oh, what beast will we be hunting today?" Blake asked.

"Hunting? You're here with a fresh stab wound asking me about hunting," Paul rebuked, "She hasn't even recovered from the last hunt."

Paul pointed a finger at Angel, burns still showed on her skin.

"Hey, it takes more than some third-degree burns to put me out of commission!" Angel objected.

"This is why I have to lecture you two," Paul said bluntly, "inexperience is no excuse for reckless abandon."

Paul could tell that his words were harsh, but he needed to get his point across.

"I don't want to force the two of you into hunting here if you don't want to," Paul stated, "If either of you feel that Avelucia is too dangerous then we can walk away; look for somewhere else to make our living."

"Walk away?" Blake asked, "What use is it for us walk away? Just so we can run into trouble elsewhere?"

Paul did not interrupt Blake's speech.

"I didn't want to believe it when we first came here, but Avelucia is my home now. Not because I was born here, and not because I have any attachment to this city. Avelucia is my home because it is here that I stand with those that I care about." Blake took a deep breath before continuing, "I would rather lose my life because I refused to stop doing what I love than run from my battles any longer."

"I'm with Blake," Angel seconded.

"We are hunters, what else is there to think about?" Blake added, "We're here in Avelucia, so this is where we hunt."

Paul laughed; he had expected something like this. He had forgotten the most important attribute of any hunter: unity. This was not Paul's battle, it was the entire guild's battle. Blake and Angel knew that they were pawns on the playing board, yet they did not object to their roles. All this time Paul had felt burdened by responsibility, but the hunters that stood before him now were his equals. He could entrust them with his own life without regret.

"Persistent bunch, aren't you?" Paul jested, "I don't suppose I can change you minds?"

Neither Blake nor Angel said a word. Their silence was the answer to Paul's question.

"If that's the case, then we've got some hunting to do," Paul said with a smirk on his face.

On their way to the guild hall, Angel and Blake stopped by the smithy.

"Come for the equipment, have you?" the blacksmith asked at their approach.

He withdrew a vibrant headpiece. The headband was adorned with beautiful feathers that formed floral patterns. Truly it was the work of a skilled craftsman. The ax was less decorative, but equally beautiful. The feathers seemed even more vibrant against the dull bone, which made for a sharper blade that some inferior metals. Angel took the equipment with joy.

"This is beautiful!" she shouted, still admiring the smith's handiwork.

"It was good to make a weapon that I knew wouldn't be used to spill innocent blood," the smith responded, "If you two run across any more interesting materials, I'd love to work with them."

"Provided we provide the zenny, eh?" Blake questioned.

"Well of course," the merchant said so-factly, "I've got to make a living."

"You're not the only one," Blake responded.

"Speaking of which, I'm sure Paul is waiting," Angel added.

The two made their way to the guild hall after assuring the merchant that they'd make use of his services once more.

Even as the doors of the guild hall creaked open, Blake felt a sense of nostalgia. It wasn't as though he hadn't been here in a while, but now Blake saw the hall in a different light. It didn't matter how dilapidated or abandoned the building was, for it was here that he would hunt. One day all of Avelucia would know his name, and then this hall would be magnificent.

"Big news!" Paul shouted, breaking Blake from his delusions of grandeur.

"Any news that doesn't involve people who want me dead is welcome," Blake jested.

"Why would anyone want you dead?" Paul said, "You're such a joy to be around."

His sarcasm stung.

"Enough of that, what's the news?" Angel asked.

"Well, we've got ourselves an urgent contract," Paul stated, brandishing a sheet of paper on which every surface was covered with large, obnoxious text.

Blake couldn't even make out what the contract was about.

"Angel and I are kinda new to the business, mind explaining exactly what that means?" Blake asked.

"Some hunting contracts require a bit of priority," Paul explained, "Contracts like these pay well and they give you a chance to show the guild your stuff."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Blake responded.

"Hold on, what's the mark?" Angel asked, "It's gotta be something dangerous if this contract is so urgent."

"There you're right," Paul answered, "It takes quite a beast to stir up enough trouble for this kind of special treatment. In particular we'll be dealing with a Daimyo Hermitaur."

"We?" Blake questioned, picking up on Paul's choice of words.

"That's right, I'll be fighting with you two on this hunt. A Daimyo Hermitaur isn't the kind of monster I can send you to fight blindly," Paul stated.

"I'm all for not going in blindly, but isn't it a little . . . excessive to have you along?" Blake said.

"Never underestimate a wild beast!" Paul said bluntly, "A careless hunter can lose his life to weakest prey."

Though Blake knew it was for the best for Paul to join them, something in him still objected. Perhaps it was pride . . .

_Pride_

What had Blake done to earn such an emotion. It was not as though anyone sung his laurels, yet still he felt a sense of self-satisfaction in hunting, and deep down he didn't want to endanger it.

"Paul is right," Angel added, "the field is a place for brotherhood, not selfish glory mongering."

Angel's words scarred Blake

"Of course!" he shouted, attempting to hide his discomfort, "The more the merrier."

Blake felt as though all eyes were on him. Surely Paul and Angel wondered about the cause of his objections.

"Anyways," Paul said, "since we're done chatting I say we get going. I've already taken the contract."

Blake felt guilty, though he hadn't actually done anything wrong, his thoughts betrayed his image of what an ideal hunter should be, and he didn't want to show that to others especially those close to him. As the group left the guild hall Blake focused his mind on the hunt ahead; he didn't need any distractions.

Angel walked with the others en route to the hunt. With Paul accompanying them Angel felt more secure. It was less because of Paul's skill as a hunter, and more due to the fact that she didn't feel like she was being tested anymore. Angel toyed with her new weapon as she walked. Though it was an ax it handled much like a short-sword would. She adjusted the fit of the headdress on her head. It offered more in the way of ornamentation than protection, but part of being a hunter was keeping up appearances, and wearing it made Angel feel more confident. Angel was so distracted by her new equipment that she bumped in to Blake, and she nearly tumbled over Paul when he came to a sudden stop. Paul raised his hand, signaling for the others to wait. Moments passed, but Angel noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Paul slowly lowered his hand. Somewhere in the recesses of Angel's mind her basest instincts sensed that something was amiss. She walked the rest of the trip flickering her eyes about, trying to spot whatever was the source of her unease.

Paul feared that his suspicions had been correct. Ever since the hunt in Santonia, Paul had been cautious; There are no coincidences in life. He had been suspicious of this contract as well since the moment he laid eyes on it. He had wanted to say something to Blake and Angel, but he had been afraid that prying ears might hear. A Daimyo Hermitaur was not such a dangerous creature that Paul need accompany Blake and Angel for the hunt, but he suspected something far more dangerous than an average Daimyo Hermitaur awaited them.

As Blake walked he desperately wanted to strike up a conversation. He needed something to cool his nerves; the thought of hunting under Paul's watchful eye once more made him antsy. Much to Blake's dismay, it seemed as though the others were too occupied watching their surroundings to converse. Blake refused to fall into the same paranoia as them; he would probably go crazy if he did.

Even if only to hear himself talk, Blake spoke.

"So what is a Daimyo Hermitaur like?" he asked.

Much to Blake's surprise, Paul gave a immediate response.

"They're rather common creatures," Paul began, "Wherever there are Hermitaurs, there is a Daimyo. He's their leader, the name Daimyo even means leader in some foreign language; it was a foreigner who gave them a name."

"Okay, a history lesson is nice, but what does it look like?" Blake asked, "and more importantly, how should I fight it?"

"Well, Hermitaurs are of the Capraceon species," Paul began, he had used some words that Blake was not familiar with, "they have a chitinous hide and live within an external shell. They're almost like lobsters, if you've ever seen one of those, but they're closer to your common crab. The same is true of the Daimyo, only it's much, much larger. Obviously, you shouldn't bother hitting its shell, as that isn't a part of its body. Beyond common sense tactics, you can do more harm if you slip your blade between its chitin, not that that really matters with a greasword."

Blake scratched his head, based on what he gathered from Paul's description he pictured the Daimyo Hermitaur as a very odd creature. Blake had never seen a lobster, but he could almost recall eating crab once. Random thoughts like these put Blake's mind at ease; he wondered if a Daimyo Hermitaur would tasted good. Now that he could properly distract himself from his thoughts, Blake saw the journey go by quickly. Before he knew it, they had arrived at the camp.

Angel still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. She couldn't help but hear sinister movements in the innocent forest ambiance, yet still nothing unusual had happened. The preparations at the base camp were uninterrupted, the rations weren't poisoned. Perhaps she and Paul both had misjudged the situation. Angel was genuinely puzzled; it seemed impossible that this hunt would go on without a hitch, yet it had.

_So far_, Angel thought.

Blake called Angel from her delirium; it seemed as though he was the only one actually focused on the hunt. He showed her a map of the area, noting the location that the Daimyo was last spotted at. To Angel, the forest didn't seem like the ideal habitat for a giant crab to live. Why would the Daimyo be here if no other Hermitaurs were? That detail restored Angel's suspicions, she couldn't help but bring it up to the others.

"Doesn't it seem odd for a Daimyo Hermitaur to be in a forest?" she asked.

"Of course, that's why this is an urgent hunt." Paul responded, "The crab probably ended up here after running from something in its home ecosystem, or it could just be here wreaking havoc to show dominance. The former is more likely, but the latter has been known to happen."

"There have always been issues with monsters showing up where they shouldn't be, but lately these cases seem to be on the rise. We'll talk more about it later," Paul said, cutting the conversation short.

Angel thought on Paul's words.

_Something in its home ecosystem_, that was what scared her.

Only one breed of creature had such an impact: Elder Dragons.

Not wanting to linger in this spot for long, Paul motioned for the party to get moving. He was still convinced that this contract was a ploy. Even as they neared on the spot of the Hermitaur sighting Paul waited for some kind of ambush. It wasn't until Paul caught glimpse of the Daimyo in the distance that he made a realization.

"Wait," he told his companions, "Something isn't right here."

"What is it?" Blake asked, already prepared to draw his blade.

"Do you remember the contract in Santonia that started this all?" Paul asked.

"How could I not, with how much trouble it has caused us," Angel responded.

"That contract was so specific in its details," Paul began, "too specific."

"What exactly do you mean by too specific?" Blake asked.

"That contract specified that the creature was a whelp. Not only that, but it provided an exact location where the monster was last spotted. That's not the kind of thing that your average contract provides," Paul stated.

"The part about it being a whelp was completely off as well," Angel added.

"That contract was trying too hard to be convincing, and this one was the same," Paul finished.

"I had guessed that the contract in Santonia was a set-up, but you mean to tell me that this one is too?" Angel asked, "What monster is going to come out of nowhere this time, a silver Rathalos?"

Blake gave a worried laugh to Angel's comment.

"Now you're making stuff up," he responded.

"Oh, but gold Rathians are commonplace all of the sudden?" Angel rebuked.

"No, Angel's right," Paul added, "it's likely that some beast more fearsome than you could imagine had driven many a creature from its home. I would bet that our Hermitaur isn't the only thing out of place here."

"You mean that there's an Elder Dragon?" Angel asked.

"Careful now," Paul cautioned, "Angels shouldn't speak of devils, least they show themselves."

Angel shot a stinging gaze at Paul, but he paid her no heed.

"We can't discount the possibility of another monster showing up during our hunt," Paul stated, "We need to finish this as quickly as we can, but I advise caution. Fear can make the most docile beasts ferocious."

"Enough talk," said Angel, "Let's get this over with."

Those were the words that Blake was waiting to hear. He didn't care for talk of disasters that may come when there was a hunt waiting. He had been watching the Daimyo while the others talked. He could read the creature's fear, though it did not express its emotions as a human would. The giant crab sat, unassuming when it should be lording over this place. Its movements were finicky, and it seemed lost.

"How do you plan to approach?" Blake asked Paul.

"Take it slow," Paul responded, "There's no way we'll sneak up on the beast while its being so cautious, but a head-on assault won't do us any good."

Angel and Blake each gave a nod in response to Paul's orders.

"If the beast makes a move split up and go for the legs," Paul added, motioning for the group to move.

Blake inched forward. Leaves cracked beneath his feet; he wondered if the Hermitaur even had ears with which to hear his approach. The time for random thoughts passed, however, as the Daimyo Hermitaur made its move.

Paul grew tense as the Hermitaur reared up, it had noticed them now. Fluids spewed from the beasts maw, a sign that the beast was at the brink of death, but Paul was no less cautious. He approached the Daimyo while Angel and Blake split off to either side of the giant crab. Greatsword in hand, Paul readied himself for close-quarters combat with the Hermitaur. Paul made the first move, readying an overhead swing right for the creature's head. In response, the Hermituar bunkered down underneath the cover of its massive claws as Paul's blade crashed down upon it. The sword struck at a bad angle, barely chipping the beast's chitin. The Hermitaur rebuked by lashing out at Paul with its claws; he evaded the attack with a hasty roll. Even before Paul had managed to stand, the beast was prepared to smash him underneath its claw, but Paul easily raised his guard before the beast hammered down upon it. He was knocked to the ground, but otherwise unharmed. It was then that Angel struck. She wedged her ax deep between the beast's chitin of the Hermitaur's leg. The beast toppled over, creating the opportune moment for a killing blow. Paul struggled to collect himself in order to finish the beast.

Blake had been biding his time for the right moment to strike, as he could tell that the creature was desperate to survive. Now, as the Hermitaur writhed on the ground it was his moment. He held his sword high in the air, measuring for the best place to strike the Hermitaur. The creature regained its balance as Blake dealt his blow. No sooner had his hit connected than the Hermitaur vanished into a cloud of dust. When the dust cleared the beast was nowhere to be seen. Blake turned to Paul and Angel, who were running as fast as they could. Their eyes looked to the sky, prompting Blake to do the same; the giant Capreceon was plummeting from the sky right above Blake! He broke into a fanatic sprint, convinced that there was no way he would escape being crushed. Blake felt a thud against his head as his vision went black.

Angel could see nothing through the cloud of dust that the Hermitaur's landing had kicked up. The only thing she was certain of was that she had not been crushed beneath the beast. She called for Paul and Blake, desperately hoping that they were okay. When the dust cleared she hoped to catch sight of her companions, but instead she was greeted by the giant claw of the Daimyo Hermitaur striking out at her. Angel was tossed aside by the creature's blow. The breath was knocked out of her as she rolled to a stop along the forest floor. She writhed in pain for a moment before she struggled to stand.

_Had the beast intended to pick them off while their vision was clouded?_ Angel wondered, yet her time for thought was short as the Hermitaur again encroached on her.

Angel's weapon had been knocked from her grasp, but she refused to go down without a fight. As she stood her ground, Angel noticed something off about the creature's movements; it was limping.

_Had the fall been too much for the Hermitaur's injured leg to handle?_ Angel thought.

She saw only one course of action. Angel raised her shield as she charged towards the beast. She juked the Daimyo's claw as it thrust into the ground. Angel threw herself against the Hermitaur's front leg, causing it to buckle. The creature toppled to the ground once more, yet there was nothing Angel could do to finish it off.

_What had become of the others?_ She worried.

No, those thoughts would do her no good. Angel was the victor here; she had toppled the beast and surely Blake or Paul would finish it off. And even if they wouldn't . . . Angel smashed her shield against the Hermitaur again and again.

"Where are you?" she shouted, "Why aren't you killing it?"

Angel felt a hand lay upon her shoulder.

"Blake?" she cried out, turning to face Paul.

"The beast is dead, lass," Paul said, the creature's blood dripping from his blade.

Angel broke away from Paul; she needed some time to regain her composure. Beads of sweat ran down her brow, her breaths were ragged, and her heart refused to slow its pounding. Angel couldn't let herself be seen in such a fragile state. Panic may have gotten the best of her, but the others did not need to know.

_The others_

Angel still had not seen Blake. Her vision darted from side to side searching for any sign of him. She searched frantically, but she didn't want Paul to see her weakness; to see that she cared; to see how much she cared. Try as she might, Angel could find no trace of Blake. She condemned herself to the reality that she had lost him. Angel fell to her knees, screaming.

Paul watched Angel's panic attack unfold. The commotion had left her hysteric, and Paul could think of no way to help. He simply stood at her side as she tried to tear herself apart. However, he was forced to take action when she began to wail. Paul could not have her cries drawing unwanted attention from the local beasts. He thumped his fist against Angel's skull hard enough to knock her unconscious. He collected her equipment and laid it next to her before he searched for Blake. Paul found Blake pinned beneath a fallen tree branch, the Hermituar's fall must have knocked it from a nearby tree. Paul lugged Blake over to where Angel lay before resting there himself. He watched over his unconscious compatriots, waiting for the moment when they might wake from their false sleep. Blake was the first to gasp back into life. He rubbed the back of his head before jumping to Angel's side. He asked questions, but Paul was in no mood to answer. He simply gave a dismissive wave or shake of the head to satisfy Blake's interest. It wasn't until Angel awoke that Paul spoke any words.

"Let's go," he said plainly as he stood.

Paul motioned for his disoriented companions to follow his lead. He wanted to be leave of this place quickly, the atmosphere foretold of catastrophe to come.

"Hurry now," Paul shouted, "I need to lay my tired bones to rest."

"My, you're even older than I thought," Blake jested.

"Then surely you should be able to keep up with me," Paul challenged.

"Of course I can," Blake rebuked, hastening his pace.

Against Paul's initial worry, the group had returned from another successful hunt, but to what avail? This was the question that haunted Paul's mind as they trekked back to Avelucia.


End file.
